


The Cry of the Leaves

by Biscoote, interstellareloquence



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Beast!Wirt - Freeform, Blood, F/M, Sad and Doting Bea, Tuberculosis symptoms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-19 18:56:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3620628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biscoote/pseuds/Biscoote, https://archiveofourown.org/users/interstellareloquence/pseuds/interstellareloquence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winters have come and gone<br/>You know<br/>Winters have come and gone<br/>You know<br/>But I'll meet you young and free<br/>For a dance 'round the memory tree</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was made and written with ancestors-lullaby.tumblr.com She's very heavily the co writer of this fic and we cried a lot while writing it so good luck!  
> It was heavily based on the song - Dance Round the Memory Tree by Oren Lavie (also the song in the description)

Lost  
Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you are not lost.  
Wherever you are is called here, And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,  
Must ask permission to know it and be known.  
The forest breathes. Listen.  
It answers, I have made this place around you.  
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying  
Here.  
No two trees are the same to Raven.  
No two branches are the same to Wren.  
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,  
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows Where you are.  
You must let it find you.

 

The wind is but a song to assure you of the state of the sky, your grandmother would tell you as a child. The sky had it's own story, it's own way of life, and in a way we were all clouds.

 

If that was the case, then, why here did no cloud shine pink, or yellow? Just a dim grey, always a dim grey. Always illuminating through the window of your small cabin room. It seemed that was all you could feel anymore.

Grey, as the sky, as the colors of an ominous winter lake late in the afternoon. No fish, no plants, just cold, dark. Choking you up.

Sighing, the tightness of your lungs coils in remembrance of the of drowning. Perhaps that would be better now, huh? Better.

Now that you had no one at all. No brother, no father or mother. No grandparents, no friends. Your life was now wood, oil, fire, and snow. That was all you knew now. No more home cooked meals from your mother. The light of your life had now faded, taken the place of a lantern's light. Though it was fun to pretend your brother was still in there, you knew that he was not- could not be.

 

He was elsewhere. Though, you couldn't remember where.... just, somewhere much safer than here.

 

The guardian of the woods is what they would say to you. Though you grasped the lantern so, so tightly, in hopes to find some new deed, someone, something to snuff out your longing and agony like a slowly burning wick. A guardian of souls, perhaps.

 

Though now you were stuck with the serenity of a small, simple life in which you didn't belong.

You were more of a pawn, you knew this. Just to help with work. What family you could have had was long forgotten, long abandoned. It seemed like fate really had it out for you, huh?

And when the marks began to appear, you knew that fate did.

The crevices of inky black delving into your skin, small craters plaguing your inner arm, feeling hard like wood.  
Whatever sign this was, you were sure now that your time had come.

It had been a long night, but, none of these outbreaks go unnoticed.

Your head ached and was extremely fuzzy. 

 

Pushing himself up from his small bed, Wirt fumbled to slip on his clothes. High waisted, grey dress pants, a button up shirt, suspenders, and his cloak. Followed by, of course, his pointed hat.

It was tedious to slip out, but he managed, with the other two sleeping at the opposing end of the log cabin.  
Carefully, quietly, he grabbed his axe, and out the door he was.

Through snow, and long trails of frost creeping up his cape, he sauntered into the front woods, the half moon's beam illuminating his puffs of breath.

Aimlessly, the boy swung the axe down into the nearest tree, his expression a bit blank as he began to repeat the motion. Swinging harshly into the soft wood, making his wound ache.

The dull thump and crack could be heard from afar. No lantern necessary, just the moon.

Still, a dull light shone through the winding of the trees. 

A light that would reveal herself soon enough. 


	2. Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I have music for most of these chapters.  
> Music always makes me more emotional so I like to link to the ones that I wrote to. 
> 
> Songs for this chapter:  
> 1st break- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N8yP5ipKDvQ
> 
> 2nd- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wVwLPFWo6xo
> 
> 3rd- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6FsyQTakUTM

“Oh! Come on, you can do better than that!” Beatrice chimed loudly from the other side of the water, on a nice bed of dirt and grass. She was practically standing in the creek at this point. Her white knuckles gripped at the blue hem of her dress and she held it above her calves, the water reaching about to her ankles. As she laughed, looking up at the boy on the other side. He grinned at her, shaking his head as he walked around the area of the rock bed, looking for a another pebble. Eventually, he found one, almost shining up at him as he leaned down to grab it. He ran his thumb over the smooth area as he leaned up, before glancing back the girl across the river, who was excitedly glancing down at the sparkly things she saw in the water. She looked up at him, her face suddenly looking annoyed.

“Wirt! Toss the rock already!” The boy obeyed, letting his arm reach back and slingshot like a whip the limb swung forward. He flicked his wrist as he let go, watching expectantly. The pebble bounced once, and then fell pathetically. “That was a perfect rock!” Beatrice breathed with a grin. “How did you mess that up?” She snickered and Wirt shrugged.

“This is my first time skipping rocks okay? I’m surprised I got it to bounce even once!” He called back pathetically, shaking his head. His dress pants were rolled up to his low ankles, shoes and socks discarded next to his hat and cloak. Beatrice shook her head and shifted the fabric in her hands so that she could hold her entire dress with one hand. She leaned forward, the tip of her auburn locks dropping into the water as she thrust her fist into the freezing, but cooling liquid. Her hand came up with a relatively smooth pebble and she tossed it in a similar way, arm goes back, forward, wrist.

The rock bounced four times.

Wirt sighed.

Beatrice laughed. “You’ll get it. One day.” She teased, tipping her head with a sneer as she stepped forward in the water, her other hand coming down to hold her dress again. She shivered as the water came up closer to her calves, but rested still at her upper ankles. She gasped and looked up, gasping with a exhilarated expression as she jumped, cursing as her feet slammed into a sharp rock. She yelped and Wirt’s eyebrows shot upward.

“S-Stop! You’re gonna hurt yourself! B-Beatrice!” Wirt nervously stepped back and forth on the rocks, pacing anxiously as his eyes continued to stare at her. One of his hands gripped at his collar and tugged at it out of habit.

“It’s just rocks and water, dummy!” Beatrice called back. “Nothing I’ve ever dealt with before.” She grunted as she barely some slippery moss, jumping forward again. Parts Of her dress and face were soaked. She didn’t seem bothered though. The adventurous girl tumbled forward through the water until she reached the rock bed. At this point, Wirts hands were stretched out to her, just in case. She didn’t take his hand out of pride though, but regretted it when she gasped out and her foot caught on a particularly larger rock. She fell forward and Wirt hopped forward a bit, shrieking at the icy liquid making contact with his feet, ankles, and pants. Beatrice’s face crashed into his chest, and he stumbled back but remained standing. The force wasn’t too great, as she was already quite close to him. She looked up at the boy and laughed, shaking her head and causing droplets of water from her locks to fall on to Wirt’s arms. His ears turned red and he jumped backward, weakly walking over to a rock and sitting down on it. Wirt folded his arms indignantly, crossing his legs.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

Beatrice stumbled, laughing at him. Her eyes bright. He coughed, shaking his head and averting his eyes. If you looked close you could see a small smile. Beatrice waltzed over to him, sitting down on the rock and scooting back so her scuffled and calloused feet could dangle off the edge and dry. She pulled her hair back with her fingers and let it cascade down her shoulder blades. She wore it down today, but not by choice. Somewhere along the way she had lost her hair tie. She leaned back, her palms pressing down into the hard surface of the rock.

"It's still kinda chilly." Beatrice hummed, sitting upward and wrapping her arms around her torso.

"You were _just_ playing around in a river. That was frozen nearly two weeks ago." Wirt pointed out with a raised eyebrow. Beatrice shrugged, breathing in the scent of flowers. The forest was budding with blossoms and the start of green life protruding through the ground and the trees and Beatrice couldn't help but be excited about it. The forest was finally colorful again. She was getting tired of that sickly grey color. Eugh. It reminded her of the beast's cold bright eyes. Especially on sunny winter mornings when the light reflected off the snow, making your retinas ache.

Wirt's close call with frostbite didn't make her love the snow more either... 

She was glad for even a little bit of warmth.

"But the sun is out." 

"The sun is out in the winter too." 

"But it's automatically warmer when the sun is out." 

"Not always." 

"Stop complaining!" Beatrice rolled her eyes. "I'm just sick of Winter. It's nice to see new life sprouting out of the ground again." Wirt nodded, smiling softly.

"You make a good point." The air still felt too sharp to him. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Beatrice sat down at a square, wood table near the fireplace of the small cottage. She sighed out, leaning her jaw in her hands on the table. She stared down at the small cup of tea that sat in front of her. One of her hands dropped onto the table and she cupped it.

Ever since Greg left, Wirt had moved into Adelaide's house. No one was using the little cottage so why waste it. I was considerably farther away from Beatrice's house though. They did know how to get back and forth between each other's houses now, and did commonly, spending days and nights at each other's houses. Without Greg though, Wirt seemed dejected. He tried to be happy for her, she knew that. She leaned back in the chair a bit. She had always hoped she'd be able to suffice for company, and she knew Wirt cared for her, and appreciated her company, but deep down, Beatrice knew she'd never suffice for loosing a family member. The idea sort of bit at her, but she knew it was selfish and abandoned the idea. She lifted up the steaming tea in her fingers and sipped it, but not too much. It was still quite hot. She looked up, glancing at a boy who was sitting in front of her. She let her eyes wander, looking around the room. It was a bit more barren then at first. When Beatrice first arrived here, she couldn't swallow the panic and bile in her throat. She knew the decor made Wirt nervous too. That day they cut down all the dry thread and kept only some of the carpets and tapestries on the walls. The first thing they did was open the windows. Nobody could breathe in that stuffy air. 

"Wirt...." She started softly Wirt jumped a bit at the sound of her sudden voice, but was staring down at the fireplace, very obviously distant and not paying attention. 

"I can hear his voice." 

Beatrice opened her mouth and closed it. "Greg's?" She asked softly. Wirt seemed to recede into his chair and he nodded. Beatrice smiled softly. "Wherever he is, he's thinking of you. I'm sure he hears your voice too. Maybe you can see him again someday?" Beatrice spoke gently, trying as hard as she can to help. Wirt shook his head with a tired laugh.

"That's not happening. I just- I know- I can't tell you why exactly, you won't believe me, but I can't go back." Wirt started, leaning up a bit and resting his elbows on the table. The room seemed too dark, and it was still mid day.

Beatrice nodded, biting her lip. "I'm sorry." She replied softly, averting her eyes. Wirt shrugged, laughing again. He was obviously  trying to be at least somewhat chipper for her. He considered that she'd probably leave him if he kept this up. 

 

"It's not your fault." 

Beatrice took another sip of her tea before standing and letting the silky fabric of her dark blue dress lay over her legs. It ended at her ankles and she sported no shoes today. She walked to the windows and opened the curtains a bit more in a feeble attempt to let more light it. It hit Wirt's eyes and he squinted, turning his face away. It made his head pound and his eyes burn. How odd. His arm went over to fiddle with the clip of his suspender. He had more to say, but wasn't going to speak. 

"Let's go outside." A soft voice spoke to him and his eyes softened slightly. 

He looked up. "Alright. Yeah. Okay." His lungs burned. Damn dry air... 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

"Help me up onto this branch!" Beatrice chimed, holding out her hand to Wirt. He took it and walked over to her, letting go for a moment and nervously placing his hand on her hips, gripping them before she said '123GO' and jumped. He groaned quite loudly.

"HHng.. You're... so heavy.. .." He strangled out as she scrambled up the tree and set herself onto the branch. He dropped his arms and breathed heavily.

"I'm sure you're not too light yourself." She breathed out, a small shot of adrenaline obvious on her cheeks. 

"Lighten up on the birdseed." Wirt teased back. He hacked a couple times into the crook of his elbow, shaking his head at her concerned expression. 

"Catching a cold?" Beatrice asked, tipping her head.

"Something like that." Wirt replied plainly. Could you catch colds in the afterlife?

"Come on up and join me!" Beatrice called, holding down her hand to him. He shrugged, pushing her hand away and jumping for the branch. He caught it, but struggled immensely with his lack of upper body strength. Beatrice snorted at him. "Yeah, no, this isn't going to work?" 

"Really?" She taunted sarcastically, a sneer plastered across her dusted face.

Wirt rolled his eyes at her and motioned for her to scoot over. As she did, he jumped and tried again, using the bark against his feet for leverage as he pushed himself up and over the branch shakily, almost falling. He yelped, his heart beating fast. Like the feeling you get when you wake up from a nightmare with your heart in your throat. He breathed long, slow breaths and Beatrice snickered at him, her voice coming out loudly. "You're not the best climber I've met!" She called, grinning ear to ear.

"You aren't either! I had to help you up!" Wirt yelled back, feeling a little attacked. 

"Fair point. But still." 

Wirt clenched his teeth, his knuckles white as he gripped onto the branch.

"We're not even that high. If you fell you'd just get some dirt in your hair. Criminy." She shook her head in an amused manner. Wirt was still shaking. She let go of the branch and waved her hands in front of Wirt's face. 

Wirt began coughing again. Except this time it was a fit. He wouldn't stop. He hacked into one of his hands shaking his head at Beatrice's touches, waving her off. She jumped off of the branch, her ankles burning at the contact and held up her hands to him, using a sort of grabby hands motion. He nodded, opening one eye as his hand reached down to grasp her arm. Her hand grasped his in return and she leaned him forward as he fell down, collapsing on her slightly as he tried to regain his footing. Beatrice shook, her muscles tensing as he turned to cough into his sleeve. His other hand still rested on Beatrice's arm, and she gazed at him. He eventually began to calm, and breathe normally. He opened his eyes and gave a gentle cough, his breath wheezing slightly. 

"You really are heavy." 

Wirt smiled. 

 

 

 

 


	3. Ache

Beatrice strolled up to the Woodsman’s house, knocking on the door of the Woodsman's house, her fist pounding on the wood door a bit impatiently. "You said you'd come to my house today but you're not even up yet. What's the deal?" She pursed her lips, knowing the Woodsman was out and that the only person home was probably his daughter, and most likely Wirt. The Woodsman’s daughter, Esther greeted Beatrice kindly and lead her inside. The girl didn’t say much. She was always a soft soul.

The dull knocking had lulled Wirt from his dreary state of sleep, his eyes squeezing shut in frustration at all the noise. He was well aware that Beatrice was in the house. Though, took no heed in hurrying to the door. She'd probably just barge in and wake him up, unnecessarily loudly. And of course, speak of the devil and she shall appear… Beatrice waltzed into Wirt’s room and ran over to his bed, "It's not like you to sleep in." She reprimanded, throwing back the covers of his bed sheets and quilts. After Greg went home, Wirt ended up moving in with the Woodsman. The room still wasn't too decorated, as Wirt hadn't lived there for too long. There were little sticks carved into shapes on a desk in the corner, as it seemed Wirt had taken up whittling. She scoffed at a little sculpture of a deer and looked down at him, her hands on her hips like a mom waking up a child in the morning. Wirt grumbled, his callused, paler than usual hands reaching to yank the covers back over his cold form.

"It's not like you to take away my sweet heat from my blankets. Oh, wait! It is” He said sarcastically, before pushing himself back beneath the covers, his pajamas supplying a nice amount of warmth to him. If she was intending on dragging him from bed, she'd best try harder today. Since he felt like hell itself had burrowed into his stomach and lungs, making him ache and cough.  
"Oh come on, you're no fun. It's a really nice day out! Spring's finally arrived! We should go for a walk." Beatrice almost pleaded, placing her hands on the mattress and leaning over him. She pulled out her hair tie and let her amber locks pour out onto Wirt's face. Just to be a nuisance. "Walks are good for you." She teased, shaking her head to tickle him with her hair.

"When hell freezes over, maybe." The boy replied, before turning to his side and whining out when her hair started to tickle his face. "Y'know what, maybe, actually, we should put up some sort of memorial for me. That'd be great! Since I'm not in the healthiest of shapes right now..." he muttered, laughing quietly to himself afterwards. "Plus, wasn't the sky grey just yesterday?" He remarked, turning on his back to face the ceiling. He hadn't been out in a bit, due to his aching body hindering him from working.

"Still not feeling great, huh?" Beatrice asked softly, tipping her head to the side. she'd been worried about him lately. Wirt had been overcome with a horrid fever a few days after his coughing fit. He had moved into the Woodsman’s house at Beatrice’s request, so that someone could watch over him. Beatrice had all her siblings and one more mouth to feed would be difficult, considering her parents already have a hard time feeding them all. Beatrice couldn’t help but be angered when she noticed that every time the Woodsman looked at Wirt, he seemed sad and confused. He was obviously upset about the poor boy having such a hard time but…

Beatrice wondered if he knew more than he was letting on.

"Take a wild guess, Bea." The boy said, slowly pushing himself upward and flipping his arm over to examine his pale forearm and the blue veins showing through. Jeeze. He could swear he was at least a healthy flesh tone last week, but now his skin was more pasty than ever. He sighed under his breath, and his gaze drifted to his whitling table.

"All the more reason to get out! You probably just need some fresh air." Beatrice prodded. In a way, getting Wirt out of bed would confirm he was okay for her, so this was a little urgent. "well you'd know if you went outside lately." Beatrice retorted.

"Right... just some fresh air." He remarked softly, before pressing his back to the wall, glancing out of the window. Apparently spring had indeed come, but he didn't feel any coiling excitement to see baby's breath peaking from the grass, and daisies painting their pathway white.

Beatrice looked down at the boy and straightened up, taking about five seconds to string her hair up in a extremely messy bun. "Yeah!" she chimed back at him, her tone excited but her voice low. Her eyebrows were furrowed tightly together in worry. But she made sure to banish the expression before Wirt noticed. "Let's get you dressed. We can sit on the patio. I won’t make you walk.”

"That doesn't sound too bad.." he remarked, swinging his feet over the bed slowly, before peeling away from his covers, into the cold air as Beatrice shifted to the side to give him more room.

It took him a bit of time to find a nice outfit that was clean, but he managed. Beatrice hummed. “When was the last time you went outside? Honest?" She called out, turning around while Wirt dressed. He pulled on a deep green button up shirt and some black high waisted dress pants,

along with brown button suspenders. He exhaled slowly and ran his fingers through his hair, feeling the burn of his lungs hit him just then.

"Last Wednesday.." he replied flatly. "Er- Tuesday? Thursday.." he looked to the wall, closing his eyes and sighing for a moment, before picking up a knife and a small block of wood. The boy roughly felt through his hair and stared down, before turning with a questioning look. Beatrice’s eyes softened worriedly. It was Monday.

 

She turned around and stopped, looking at Wirt. He looked tired as hell but at least he was well dressed. "Green looks good on you." She replied with a nod.  
She herself was sporting a blue dress, with brown trim, that ended above her calves. The sleeves ended at her elbows. On her feet, she sported brown ballet flats. The day was too warm for winter clothes!

"Ah... thank you." Wirt spoke, shoving the two items in his pocket, and groggily walking to the door, awaiting the redhead.  
Beatrice nodded at him and walked out the door frame. She smiled at the Esther, who was sitting at the small, circular table in the corner, before walking out the door, holding it open for Wirt. It really was a nice day. The sun was shining high, hot and persistent and there was a slight breeze. The forest looked out over them but Beatrice didn't mind it much. She'd always liked the forest, and found more joy wandering in it now that the danger was pretty much gone. She sat down on the steps of the patio, looking behind herself and patting the seat beside her for Wirt to sit down.

Wirt silently followed, looking down to the wood pulled from his pocket, as he twisted it in his pale, veiny palm. The wood was a deep auburn, and had traces of black lined through it. Following her every step, he sat himself down beside the red head and stared out to the wood, his chest aching more by the minute. It seemed awfully cold out though, Beatrice seemed just fine. Hm.

Wirt pulled out the knife, and silently stabbed it through the soft wood, making a scooping motion.  
"Why were you so hellbent on dragging me out to look at flowers, anyway?" The boy laughed out bitterly, followed by a stinging coughing fit. Karma, he supposed. Beatrice faced towards Wirt, her back resting on the railing.

"Because you look like death itself." Beatrice retorted with a scoff. "When you're sick, fresh air is good for you." She finished with a humph. 

He coughed into his forearm softly, his nails gritting on the knife for a moment from the burning. "So is medication. But I'm not getting any of that." He muttered out after taking in a big breath of air.

"You mean medicine? We could probably find some cherry bark for your cough. It's _okay_ as tea." Beatrice suggested, shrugging. She furrowed her eyebrows, picking at stray threads on her dress.

"I suppose we could do that. Though I'm not sure how long I can walk for.." he hummed, looking over to her, then down the stairs to the patches of grass and small flowers.

"I can find it for you. I think we have some at home." Beatrice tipped her head to the side, some of her auburn locks falling loose. She paid no attention to them. She leaned toward him a bit. "What are you making?" She asked tentatively, her chin resting in her palms. Wirt sighed out, his heart calming as he focused back on the chip of wood.

"I dunno... a tree? A deer?"

"How classic." She joked, rolling her eyes teasingly.

"Right." Wirt paused. "Do you have any better suggestions?" Wirt raised his eyebrow, before glancing down to the chunk of wood.

"Make it a bird." Beatrice replied with a snirk, gently pushing him in the arm with her palm.

"Riiight. Like you don't have enough of those." He hummed out, stifling a small yawn as he propped up his feet on the wood beam, and proceeded to carve. For some reason, he could only grasp interest in deer lately.. After that one approach earlier that winter. A black deer, or, a brown deer, very large in size; approached him, felt his hand with his nose and pressed his head to Wirt's palm. It had been late at night, after a long day of chopping wood that left Wirt feeling empty without his brother, another day of contemplating death. Not long after, Wirt broke into tears as the buck sauntered back home.

He hadn't seen another deer since.

"You have a good point." Beatrice chuckled out, then bit her lip in a concerned manner, her voice snapping Wirt out of his thoughts. Something was on Wirt's mind. No, Something was always on Wirts mind. But... he was acting strange lately. Beatrice couldn't help but be worried... Maybe it was because Greg was gone. Beatrice would be upset if one of her siblings disappeared too but... Wirt only had Greg. Now he just had….Her. She reached forward, a bit nervously and placed a hand on his shoulder. Just resting it there. Not saying anything.

Wirt's dim eyes stared up to the trees, where he couldn’t see the tops. If only.... he could have stayed with Adelaide, had his head filled with wool. It would be better than this, he thought. Better than being left without his family. Everywhere he turned, he saw Greg. He saw his brother in the sky, the storms, the lakes. Yet he was never there, of course. No frogs were singing, no songs were sung. It felt empty as ever.  
Sure, the Woodsman was sweet, so was Esther, and Beatrice was his only best friend... But at what cost? Piles of poetry? Blood from cuts in a blurred view during wood carving? None of it seemed to be worth it, at this point. And if there was hope for him, it had to be far from his lantern's light.  
Wirt jolted away a bit at her touch, looking over fast, before settling back and apologizing under his breath, easing into her touch with pink cheeks.

Beatrice swallowed hard. "Wirt, what's wrong?" She asked softly. She'd gone weeks, months without asking him why he seemed so distant. She was worried maybe that was negligent of her, but she just assumed it was because of Greg and that it would pass. But he still seemed down and forlorn and he looked sick as a dog.

Beatrice dropped her hand back into her lap. "Wirt." She said a bit sternly. He was probably just a bit delusional. Maybe he his fever had come back. He seemed more lively this morning...If even a little bit. She felt bad for spooking him though. He normally didn't mind her touching him. She brought said hand to her cheek and ran it over her face. "You can talk to me." She added softly, as her hand slide into her hair, holding her neck. No longer looking at him, she gazed into the forest.

"About what..? There's not much to talk about." He paused, digging the tip of the knife to his thumb for a moment, then, stopping to press it to the wood again. "You don't deserve this. Feeling like you have to take care of me... it's not what I want for you." He paused, breathing shakily.

"I don't feel like I have to take care of you... I'm here because I want to be." Beatrice breathed.

Half of that was a lie. Wirt wasn't taking care of himself.

Wirt inhaled sharply, and coughed soon after, his chest much tighter than before. He felt as though he was going to pass out.

 

"Mh... What's it really worth?" The brunette paused, staring away from her. "You come all this way simply to ask me what's wrong, when you very well know. You know- I bet that no one even remembers me here. So what if I'm not doing well?" He replied, a bit more harsh, now. He jammed the knife into the wood and gnawed at his lip momentarily.

She swallowed a burning feeling in her throat, staying strong. "You know that's not true." Beatrice stated firmly, her entire stance going tense.

"Not like me disappearing would end the world!" Wirt snapped loudly, digging his knife deeper into the wood with a harsh motion.

Beatrice flinched, her eyes widening a bit at him. He'd never snapped like that at her before. There was Adelaide's but... he had never actually snapped.... She started at the ground, crossing her arms so that she was grasping both elbows, in a sort of unconscious plea for comfort. "Wirt, I- I know you're upset about not being able to get home, but it's no ones fault. It's not yours. It's not... it's not mine..." She swallowed hard, silent for a moment. She quickly began to grow a bit irritated at Wirt's bad outlook and her head whipped back up to stare at him. "You're right. You know what? You're right, Wirt. It wouldn't end the world. Yes the world would keep turning without you, I was prepared to watch you leave, but you're here, and I'm sorry, that sucks, jeez louise, it really sucks. But at least try to be optimistic. You can't live your entire life being down about what didn't happen." Beatrice fumed a bit, sitting back against the railing again.

"Right... right. The beast.. it's my fault." He reiterated, laughing weakly to himself.

"You know I guess I am right! Sure! If I were to leave this cabin right now, you know what, Beatrice? They'd keep on living their lives. They'd probably even live their lives better. Without another mouth to feed. And... and- you- that's /easy/ for you to say! You /have/ a god damn family!! Being optimistic is the last thing on my list right now. At this point, you know, drowning in that lake again would be better than this life."

He stood quickly, tossing the half carved deer aside and shoving the knife harshly into the log wall, tears pricking his eyes as he exhaled shakily.

"It'd be easier on you if I were just healthier all together.. or gone." He spoke quietly, his grip on the knife tightening as he pressed his forehead to the wall, tears streaming down his face now. "Or maybe if I could have.. just.... taken him up on his offer..." he muttered through weeping.

"Wirt- don't take what I said the wrong way- I-" Beatrice stuttered out, standing up on the stairs and placing her hand atop the railing. She gripped it tightly, her other hand clenched in a fist at her side. Beatrice breathed softly, cautiously, walking over to him. "I... you're right. I have no idea what you're going through right now. But that doesn't mean you have to shut me out. I'm..." she took a deep breath. "I'm not here to antagonize you." Beatrice finished sitting down and leaning over to place her hand on Wirts back.

"B-but he... could've helped me.." Wirt choked out, gripping the wall as she touched his back. This only made him delve into tears, as he slowly tried to wiggle out the knife from the wall. "I let him go... Greg.. but... I- c-could have saved myself, too." He inhaled, before slowly turning and wrapping his arms around the girl in front of himself, his knife firmly in hand.  
"I j-just wanted to be useful. To help. And I saved him, but- at what cost... selflessness..?" He muttered, gripping at her dress. The more tears flowed, the lighter his head felt. The more nauseous he grew.

"You were useful. You banished him from the woods." She reminded him carefully, her hand placed on his back still. She was afraid to make any more movement though. With the knife in his hand. Beatrice knew Wirt would never... but.... She looked down and placed a hand on his, the one that was gripping at her dress. "Wirt, breathe..." She murmured.

"The woods.. sure. H-he's probably just somewhere else." Wirt coughed out, his grip with the knife tightening at her dress more as she placed her hand upon it. Slowly, he exhaled, releasing his grip a bit and dropping the knife to the ground.  
His eyes narrowed as he choked back tears, coughing in the process. His head felt fogged, and just sounded like static and buzzing. His pupils dilated as he pressed his head to her shoulder, breathing shallowly for a moment, not soon after hacking and coughing into his hand. His chest was coiled like a rusted spring, his mind felt like it was crumbling. Rust.... right. He stared to his palm where splatters of saliva and scarlet resided. Quietly, he wiped his hand on his thigh and pressed his head back to her shoulder silently, the warmth of her skin compared to his clammy, cold skin putting him at ease.

Beatrice looked down at his thigh, her breath catching in her throat. She felt as if her heart had stopped.

..... Blood...


	4. Remorse

There was something wrong with Wirt. Horribly wrong. Beatrice swallowed hard, resting a hand on the back of his neck nervously. He felt clammy. "You.. you're.... you're okay." She choked out, not only for her sake but for his. She wasn't quite sure what to do. She didn't come over expecting this. Wirt pulled himself off slowly, looking to her eyes. They were like bright, transparent, green marbles. Filled with hope of sorts. She seemed to calm him. He then chuckled weakly, shrugging his shoulders a bit as his eyes looked a faded brown, grey lining the inside. Bags dark underneath his eyes.

"Don't seem too surprised... or worried." He laughed out weakly, a bit of roughness to his voice. "The Himalayan legend says there are beautiful white birds that live completely in flight." He began, wiping the red from his lips. "They are born in the air, must learn to fly before falling.." he looked up to the trees, where he could not see the tops."...and die also in their flying. Maybe I have been born into such a life.." he sighed, looking down momentarily. "..with the bottom dropping out. Maybe gravity is claiming you, and you feel ghost-scripted. "He clutched his stomach, gripping hard and coughing into his arm, slowly settling himself down after the fit. "For the one who lives inside the fall, the sky beneath the sky of all...."

Beatrice listened intently and a bit forlornly at Wirt's monologue. At least his love of poetry was still existent. Still dark and depressing as always though. The thought lifted her spirits for a moment but she still felt dizzy, and shut her eyes tight for a moment. He just needed some good tea was all.... Beatrice smoothed his hair back and leaned forward to press her lips to his forehead, lingering for a moment. Hoping maybe it'd bring him back a bit. Wirt exhaled slow, and looked up to her in a blank surprise as her lips stay pressed to his cold, pale skin. Normally, that may stir him into a flustered mess.. Though he wasn't sure what to think now. Everything just felt sort of blank. It was unsettling, needless to say.

"Beatrice..." he began, completely casual. "If I were... to... possibly not make it to next fall, promise me something?" Beatrice looked down at him.

"Don't say that. You're not going to die." Beatrice replied with a sort of light-hearted scoff to mask her worry. "But... what would you like?" She prompted, the hand on his forehead moving back to sift through his hair.

"Mm.." he merely hummed to her response. He wasn't sure to live much longer, with the care he was given. It wasn't avoidable. "Just... Make sure they don't forget me. Endicott, Lorna, whoever even knew me here. I wouldn't.... I wouldn't want it to be meaningless. Greg wouldn't want that of me...." Beatrice noticed how unresponsive he was. She didn't dwell on it.

"Greg would love you no matter what you did. I know that," she murmured softly. Wirt merely stared down to himself and pressed his back against the wall firmly, blinking unresponsively. He pulled his knees up to his chest, and pressed his nails firmly to his calf as he did so. Hm. She was mad at him, possibly. He stared down and exhaled shortly, coughing just a bit and cringing softly at the dull taste of iron now on his tongue. Beatrice reached foreword to grab his hand, holding it in her own so he couldn't her he dhurt himself. She'd rather he dug his nails into her anyway. Only if it would grant him some relief.

She stood up, leaning over him and tugging on his arm gently as motivation to get him to stand. "Come on, let's go for a short walk. I think you need it." Beatrice decided. If Wirt was too weak, she could take him home any time. "We can go pick at that strawberry bush near here." His hand released it's grip quickly as Beatrice took it into her's, silently lacing his fingers through her's. Wirt glanced over with sad eyes, near the brink of tears again, before smiling weakly, nodding.

"Mhh." He hummed through his closed, chapped lips. He slowly stood, remembering how much older she was than him. Much taller. Not too much, he thought. He blinked, looking near the direction where he would usually go to the bush with her, a stinging slowly pooling in his stomach.

"We'll fix you right up!" Beatrice said with a grin, one of her hands cupping his cheek before it dropped to his shoulder. She lingered for a moment. "Right-o." She started, unlinking their fingers and starting to walk down the stairs. She looked behind her, wondering if he'd need help. She didn't ask though, not wanting to patronize him. Wirt blinked with a frustrated expression to her as she cupped his cheek. Soon after, coughing into his arm quietly. He weakly tangled his fingers with her's, his stomach coiling as he stepped down one of the steps, coughing roughly into his shoulder; pausing after to wheeze in shaky breaths, before looking up a bit reassuringly.

"I'm okay.." he said, faking a smile as he made his way down the steps, and to the soft grass.

"I know." Beatrice replied, still holding his hand as he walked down. "Breath in the nice spring air! It'll help your lungs!" Beatrice chimed, letting go of his hand and trotting forward to look behind at him, she smiled, as if the previous events had not just unfolded. Wirt probably just had a bad cold. Mother didn't know much about medical stuff. She remembered how Arthur had a really bad cough one time.

Wirt knew that here, without the proper medical treatment and attention; his life span wouldn't be too much longer. Though.. for the most part, he would enjoy what he had left. Which was Beatrice. Slowing his pace, the pale boy looked to her with a soft smile as she spoke, and continued to walk to the path of the deep woods, his knife now crammed in his back pocket. If just fresh air would cure his lungs, the taste of iron wouldn't be lingering on his dry tongue as much. He felt the grass and stones beneath his feet, looking down to every small mushroom and toadstool and blue bell lining on so neatly down the path, moss creeping it's way up the trees. Though, among the lovely sights, everything felt oddly.... cold. Freezing, in fact. Hm. It clearly wasn't bothering his companion. Beatrice looked back at him again, now walking backwards with a sort of gate, holding her own hands behind her back.

"This morning, I went to take Jack out behind the mill wheel, but he won't go anywhere near it for some reason, I mean sure he used to bark at it because it was a big thing that moved without his permission but, I mean, now he _never_ goes near it. I'm not sure what to do with the poor thing." She spoke out loud, so that they'd have something to talk about other than Wirt's miserable situation. The boy's wide pupils gazed up, then back to the ground as he walked. The mill... hm.

It suddenly dawned on him that Beatrice's dog must have been the false beast...His eyes widened slightly. It made sense. The old mill was attached to Beatrice's house and the poor dog did get caught in it. It only made sense for the dog to be spooked by it. He soon realized that he should have replied, but, she was quick to change the subject. "Are you sure a knife in your backpocket is a good idea? What if you sit down and something bad happens. Oof." His knife? He reached back to remove it from his pocket with pursed lips, before placing it in his breast pocket with a shrug. 

"Nice move, but what if you fall forward now?" Beatrice asked with a smirk, folding her arms.

"I'unno." He shrugged, glancing up and around, looking ahead of her a bit, a large tree root protruding two steps away from her. Beatrice was still walking backwards. "B-Bea- You're gonna-" Wirt stuttered out nervously.

"Wha-" Beatrice looked behind herself and yelped, tripping over the branch and landing flat on her rump. Her hands hit the ground out of instinct to try and soften her fall. In the end she just hung her head. "Owwwwwww" She moaned, lifting up her hands and shaking them about. "A little more of a warning would have been nicer." She said with a roll of her eyes, "Oh my gosh." She stood up, brushing her hands against her dress to get the rocks and gravel out of her palms. Her bottom was probably covered in dirt anyway. She felt a bit bad for her mother in that moment, constantly having to clean Beatrice's dirty dresses. Oh well. Wirt simply passed with a nervous shrug, and proceeded to walk once she was up on her feet again. He tapped at his thigh in a calm rhythm, looking up to the birds in the trees as a flush of warmth, then freeze shot over his sickly skin. Followed by headrush, making him stumble over his own feet a bit. Karma, he guessed. Beatrice watched him walk by with a raised eyebrow... That was.... strangely unlike him to just.. not respond. Especially in such a casual way. As if he enjoyed watching her fall down. She blinked fast and trotted after him, trying not to let it bother her. She bit her lip, grasping at her elbow for a moment before releasing the tense stance.

"Get a move on, slow poke!"

"Says the one who was falling behind." He retorted back to her as he continued walking, his other hand now playing with his suspender as he walked, now silent. "If you'd like to go faster then be my guest."

 

Beatrice furrowed her eyebrows, averting her eyes. She obviously couldn't say anything to help, so she walked on, feeling nauseous now. She stared at the ground, watching the tufts of grass and flowers. She couldn't really be uplifted by them now. Something was wrong. She did run up infront of him though, she'd rather stare forward than stare at his back. He seemed to be walking alright though... Aside from his terrible posture. The thought made her smile. She looked back, and realized his posture seemed a bit worse. Or better. She couldn't tell.

Beatrice sighed and walked on.


	5. Strawberries

Wirt glanced up and furrowed his eyebrows nervously, trotting up weakly to catch up with her, covering his mouth to cough. "Bea.. hey, sorry- that was.. um... pretty rude, jeeze. I should've told you there was a tree root back there." He paused, hesitantly reaching to her hand, before retracting his own behind his back. "I really don't know what came over me. Sorry... so... the strawberry bush is close, right?" Beatrice flinched a bit and squinted her eyes at him. She sighed and shook her head.

"It's fine. Just unlike you is all." She spoke softly and slowly, as if saying the wrong thing would snap him out of his sudden realization of who he is. "Yeah, it's right over here."

"Right... a-again, sorry. " he paused, now muttering under his breath. "It must be the fever.. or.. something...." he spoke, looking down to his feet as the grass flattened under his working boots, hardly the right size. His feet were relatively small, and the woodsman only had lent him an old pair of boots. Oh well, it was best to take what was handed to him.

"Or something." Beatrice repeated softly, her eyes still turned downward.

Turning the corner, Wirt saw a bramble of leaves and sticks, pressed between two trees. Humming in thought, he slowly pressed his leg through, then squeezed himself through the other side. Beatrice followed his lead through the bramble bush as she pushed through and they opened up into a small clearing. Beatrice smiled. She hadn't explored the forest in a while. It was finally turning green. She grabbed Wirts hand, her spirits feeling uplifted again. "Come on, right here!" Beatrice pulled him over, slightly jogging in her excitement at the idea of fresh fruit again.

"Uh- hha-!" Wirt choked out as she grabbed his hand and pulled, running along. His breath grew ragged and heavy, fast as they ran. By the time he slowed to a stop, he was wheezing, dropping to his knees beside her and clutching his chest as he began to calm the cold, yet humid intakes of air. They pulled over after trotting for a moment through a couple more trees, where there was a patch of sunlight shining through, and... Strawberries growing underneath! She pulled him over and sat down in front of it, patting the grass next to her. Beatrice reached forward and plucked the ripest one she could find before handing it to Wirt. Wirt grasped the berry, and removed his knife from his pocket, flipping it open and cutting off the stem

"Ever had strawberries right off the bush?" She asked, finding one for herself. They weren't all ripe yet, but they would do.

 "No.. I have not." he spoke, before popping the small red fruit into his mouth.

"You haven't lived!!" Beatrice gasped, popping the entire thing in her mouth, leaves and all. She folded her legs, pulling her skirt over her knees. She chewed thoughtfully before swallowing. "Ahhh. I missed fresh fruit. let's bring some back in a minute! We can wash them and make pie or something." Beatrice nodded quickly, her eyes bright, trying to pass off her happy mood to the boy in front of her.

"Mh.. I bet Esther would enjoy some, too?" He remarked softly, reaching to grab another berry, removing the stem. It would be too hard for him to ingest otherwise. Hm.

"Definitely! She deserves something nice for all her hard work." Beatrice said with a quick nod, licking her lips and checking her face for juice with the back of her hand.

 "When do you think they'll go bad?" He questioned, cleaning the red juice from his knife with his finger before licking it

She grabbed another Berry and bit into it, biting half of it. "Mm- I'm not sure." She spoke after swallowing. "They're not completely ripe, so let's get the current ripe ones and grab the rest later...We'll have to beat the bugs and the warm weather though."

"True... it's still early, though." He spoke in a soft tone, taking a white and green berry and plunging the knife into the top, gouging out the inside and splitting it in half with the blade as he thought. Soon, though, he felt a rapture of pain in his abdomen and lurched over, he set aside the knife, his breath slowly snowballing into ragged breathing.

"Wirt!" Beatrice cried out as he keeled over, and she dropped the berry in her fingers to the ground, She reached forward, placing her hands on Wirt's shoulder's while his hair fell in front of his eyes as he squeezed them shut. Wirt propped his hands over his mouth and coughed, hacked, tears brimming his eyes a bit before he pulled his hands away, more spurts of red liquid seeping into the various crevices of his palm, as he stared down blankly. A burning now subsiding in his throat. Beatrice wasn't really sure what else to do. She swallowed hard and fast and when Wirt pulled his hands away, she closed her eyes, afraid of opening them. She breathed out a shaky breath before opening her eyes.

It... was such a good moment... Her breath caught in her throat, and she tried not to gasp upon seeing the blood again. Beatrice's hand flew to her mouth, one hand still on his shoulder. She didn't want to scare Him...

Wirt blinked slow, blood seeping off his lips and rolling from his chin, falling in droplets to his palm, where the blood had already slowly began to clot. He coughed a few more times, tears now brimming his eyes more so at the blank realization. "I suppose it's too late now to say I cant eat much less than stew, right?....h...hah..." he spat, curling over himself, his bloodied hand now going to grip at his abdomen, his other hand pressed to the grass for support as he took in a sharp, trembling breath.

Beatrice stared down at him, opening her mouth and closing it repeatedly. She felt like retching. "P-Probably not." She replied with a shake of the head. "Lean on me," Beatrice helped Wirt sit up a bit and moved his hand to rest on her shoulder. One of her hands gripped at her dress, knuckles white. Her hands were shaking furiously, but she pretended they weren't.

Wirt climbed weakly to grasp at her shoulder, his pupils furiously darting about. Something was watching him- or, causing this. These fits. He closed his eyes and breathed in heavily, shakily, looking to her eyes worriedly. "..Beatrice..." he slurred. "You're.. shaking.... it's ..okay, Bea." He spoke, his eyelids lowering, his lips curling in a weak smile. "I'm just.... just a little light headed now. It's fine... here.." he said, unconsciously moving his bloodied hand to hold at her hand that was gripping the dress.

"Wirt, Oh, Wirt, Oh...." Beatrice sputtered out, Her other hand moving to cup Wirt's cheek again. "Ah...." Beatrice softly spoke, biting at her lips. She smiled weakly back at him, not sure what else to do. She was still shaking. But she didn't deserve to be and still felt as if she was going to be sick. She stared down at the hand over hers, pretending the blood wasn't there and that everything was fine and she wasn't shaking.

The hand cupping his cheek dropped on top of his on her own. "You- You're okay." She said to him, taking a deep breath, trying to calm them both. Wirt weirdly seemed calm. His eyes showed otherwise.

Wirt closed his eyes for a moment, breathing out, trembling vigorously as he did so. He tried to manage a smile to her, choking back tears, soon though, the boy gasped out and pressed his forehead to her shoulder, coughing and gasping at the pain. "B-Beatrice.... Bea... it feels... I'm bei-ng stabbed.. .... I feel so.. light headed, help... Be-..a." he choked out through tears, grasping for her hand as he breathed out. "I'm ok.. right?" "I... it can't.. be over yet.. hah.." he laughed out weakly, blood dripping from his mouth a bit. His mind was clouded, like thick fog. It hurt. It spun. His vision was blurred, not just by tears. So dizzy. So tired.

"Wirt, Wirt, breathe," Beatrice gasped out, her own breathing becoming ragged. She made soft hiccuping noise, one hand moved to his back, her palm resting on his shoulder blades. On instinct she wanted to grip at it in her own fear, but instead she rubbed his back in circles to comfort him. "You're okay, Y-You're okay, it's not over. Not yet." He's okay. He's okay. He's okay.

..... Beatrice leaned her head towards his, her eyes wide open as her own tears fell for a moment. Mostly out of her own fear, and watching the.. the one she... a friend... in so much pain.

Wirt's hand snaked to grip at her back, in an attempt to mimic and calm her to the best of his ability. He exhaled, inhaled. Exhaled, inhaled. Slowly, after a plague of ragged breaths, after a minute of listening to the wind dance and beckon the leaves, he lifted his head up and pressed his forehead to her's, tears streaking down his cheeks.

"Bea..trice.." he spoke, his words a bit raspy now.

"It's okay, It's okay," Beatrice said softly, reassuringly. She was still afraid, but she lifted up her arms to hook around his shoulders, their foreheads still pressed together. She tried to stop her tears, biting at her lips again. "Save your breath, you just coughed up a gallon of blood for hecks sake." Beatrice said with a weak laugh, shaking her head.

"Beatr..ice.." he repeated softly, closing his eyes and pressing their noses together. He was seeming to have troubles holding his own head up.. "I feel so light-headed, Bea, I want to go home.." he spoke out, raspy and quiet. Pretty much a whisper. "We.. should walk ho...me.."

Wirt closed his eyes after gaining a disoriented vision, his ears popping and all sounds seeming distant, and faded. His head rushed fast, the feeling before you vomit, and he fell onto her arms without another word, collapsing. 

Beatrice nodded quick, lifting a hand to wipe at her eyes. She took a deep breath, hiccuping. "Yeah, Okay, we can do that, we can um- Oh!" She yelped when Wirt fell on her and looked down at him, her pupils dilating. "Wirt? Wirt! Oh gosh oh god oh no please no, wake up, wake you- you-" She choked out, lifting him a bit and then laying him down. She didn't know if she was strong enough to carry him back home oh god oh please. "Wirt!" She cried out patted his face gently, still trying to wake him up. "Please, wake up." She suddenly remembered something and leaned down, placing on her ear on his chest. There was a heartbeat. She sighed in relief, but still needed to wake up him. "mm- okay- okay-um" Her hands hovered above him, not sure what to do. She could... 

His body fell limp at her touch, his body lowering slowly to the ground as she gently moved him.

Seconds passed, at least fourty, before he rose up with a fast jolt, his eyes wide and his breathing rate showing that he was panicked. His vision shot every which way, trying to move and prop himself up on his elbows, before an aching pain subsided in his torso. He breathed raggedly, gripping the grass with a trembling hand. His eyes settled on the horribly worried red headed figure, his mind soon calming and his hand slowly moving to grip her dress.

"Wh-what ..just... happened?" He questioned, eyeing the nearing twilight through the leaves above.

"Oh! oh, Wirt oh gosh, you're awake oh god- you passed out, and- and I-" Beatrice shook her head her hands on her mouth, trying to calm herself down through panicked, muffled rasps.

Wirt staggered to push himself up, though quickly coughed and fell to the grass again. Lovely. He moved up a bit and wrapped his arms around her, noting the blood lining his hand and tongue laced with copper taste. Right.... "I remember... right." He looked up, weakly gripping the fabric of her dress. "I'm sorry.... you.. you didn't come visit me for all of this to have happened.." he spoke, quiet in his words.

"I'd rather be here for it than not." Beatrice murmured, her eyes tearing up. He still wasn't in a great shape but at least he was alive. She brought her hands up to sift through his hair with her fingers. "You can support yourself on me." She said softly, leaning into him. "We can walk back a-and get you some water."

"Ah..alright..... w-wait, Beatrice..." He spoke, looking up to her and weakly cupping her cheek, his bloodied thumb rubbing away the tear trailing down her cheek. "You... you're crying...." he spoke, eyebrows now furrowed in concern. The sky's light hurt his eyes now.

"How long have you been crying?" He asked delicately, as if not wanting to harm her.

"I... I'm... It's-" Beatrice swallowed, not really wanting to answer. Her own hand reached up to plant over his on her face. He looked like an utter mess. She guessed she did too. "It's nothing."

She lied. Wirt would probably see through her. It wasn't a good lie anyway.

Wirt glanced up with furrowed eyebrows, laughing weakly, followed by a small, pained cough. He shook his head, chuckling weakly up to her. "Beatrice... .. why are you crying..?" He remarked delicately, moving his shaking hand up to push a lock of her auburn hair behind her ear. Every touch, every feeling under his fingers felt so sensitive now. As if whatever he touched would snap like leaves under his weak touch.

Beatrice weakly laughed, feeling a bit hopeless and surprised. "Don't-" She started, cut off by his shakey movement. She stared down at him when he tucked her hair behind her ear and the touch felt cold. unnaturally cold. She looked at her knees, which were a bit pit pattered with blood. She ignored it. She took a deep inhale. "I'm not crying." She insisted.

 

Wirt closed his eyes, exhaling out a sharp cough into his arm, his hand retracting with the convulsions.

"Im.. s-sorry, I'm okay." He replied, pushing himself up slowly with a grunt, earning a tender pain and a flood of iron down his throat as he did so. "You're..... You're okay.." he slowly spoke, his chest rising and falling fast before he delved into more coughs, curling over a bit

"Wirt what did I say? Stop talking." Beatrice said sternly, biting her lip. She couldn't help but feel a bit guilty. He wouldn't be in this condition if she hadn't made him run to the bush and if she hadn't made him go on a walk with her she should have just let him stay home she should have just bugged off. She shouldn't have dragged him out.

She felt sick.

Beatrice also wanted Wirt to stop talking because hearing his voice rasp was making her anxious and he looked as if each syllable was another stab to his frail frame. She stood up albeit a bit shakily and offered her arms to him. "Let's get you back in bed."

Wirt merely nibbled at his lip and nodded to her, looking away, then down to himself silently. He pushed himself back off of her, and exhaled shakily, before looking to her, grabbing her arms weakly and quickly shoving himself to his feet, to prevent any sort of disadvantages if he were to rise slowly. His knees quoke, and his body felt incredibly heavy. Slowly, cautiously, he tried leaning and supporting his weight on her, for walking didn't come easy to him then.

Beatrice held to him tightly, before loosening her grip on one arm. "One moment." She reached forward, letting Wirt learn most of her weight on him as she unbuttoned the first two buttons on his shirt. "I don't imagine breathing would be easy with your neck tight against cloth." She said as she moved her fingers. She was still quite shaky though, and it took quite a bit of fumbling to get the job done. She then reached up to pull Wirt's suspenders from off his shoulders, letting them drape in loops next to his outer thighs. "Better?" She asked a bit nervously. She tried not to stare at the blood on his lips.

Wirt merely stood silent, his head tilted upward while she unbuttoned the tight collar around his pale neck, his suspenders falling past his hips and resting on his thighs with a bounce. The sting from his lungs began to slowly creep up his esophagus again as he nodded slowly, moving his hand to rest on her shoulder for support. Wirt shakily breathed, his tongue lapping momentarily at the blood on his lower lip.

Beatrice figured he was too out of breath to respond. She let him rest on her shoulder for a moment, rubbing his back softly, which was a bit easier now that the suspenders were off. "Tell me when you're ready...." She said softly, leaning her head on his a tad, she was able to hear his ragged breaths a bit louder now that her ear was close. She didn't like it.

Wirt glanced to her silently, scoffing under his breath, grinning weakly as he stared forward at the ground. "Whenever you are.." he spoke hoarse, soft and weak to her with a subtle frown.

Wirt merely began walking, or, stumbling with her support, his knees feeling as though they'd been struck with a hammer from the back with every push through the grass he took.

"I'm not the one who's lungs don't work right so it's on you, pal." Beatrice stated plainly, her grip on him tightening.

Beatrice walked with him at his own pace, one arm around his waist and his around her shoulders. They walked slowly, at almost a drawling pace, and Beatrice couldn't help but sieze up every time he coughed for fear of another one of those attacks. Where had that even come from... It was... so emotional..... Beatrice knew Wirt was in extreme amounts of pain back then but she'd never been so scared in her life. Well... maybe one other time. But she couldn't recall when.

She didn't say anything though, for fear of Wirt snapping at her for being doting.

His eyes stayed glued to the slips of wild flowers and grass tufts under his shoes. At some points, he'd attempt to walk faster, just to get home faster. Which usually resulted in him curling over and slowing to a stop, wheezing out painful gasps of cold air in the spring twilight.

Many times, he had to slow down and grip at Beatrice. Though his eyes stayed to the ground the whole time he walked. Fear of the sky making him nauseous.

What seemed like hours later, and they were finally home, Beatrice helping Wirt along and up the stairs. Esther saw them and instantly gasped, bringing her hands up to her mouth. "What happ!?-" The woodsman stopped her by placing a hand on her shoulder, a pitying look in his eyes. Beatrice didn't look at them. She took Wirt inside, lugging him along, her shoulders and back becoming a bit sore.

Wirt stumbled into the house and attempted to moan out a reply, though his spiking pain refused it. He trudged up the stairs weakly, exhaling and inhaling rapidly as they reached his bed. He dropped the arm around Beatrice's neck and was fast to unclip his suspenders with vigorously trembling hands, his fingers slipping many a time before they eventually were tossed to the floor. He weakly shoved off his shoes, and moved back in the bed, swallowing hard and staring up with eyes closed.

Beatrice stood, her hands grasping opposite shoulders anxiously as she watched him fumble, afraid to offer help. Once he settled down she nervously and shakily walked back into the kitchen, where a small water basin was sitting on the counter. She grabbed it, and reached for a wood mug. She sniffled, wiping under her nose with her finger. She closed her eyes and sighed, biting back her tears.

Beatrice poured water into the cup and set it down, grabbing a towel by the side of the counter and walking outside, quickly, but felt extremely slow. She walked over to the well with the rag, her feet dragging on the grass. Beatrice pulled the bucket up from the well and dipped the towel in it before wringing it out and jogging back inside. She still didn't meet the eyes of the small family. She'd tell them later.

So back inside she went, grabbing the cup in one hand with the towel in the other. She walked into Wirts room, and dropped to the side of his bed, sitting on her heels. "Want some water?" She prompted softly. His throat probably burned and she didn't imagine the taste of iron didn't taste fantastic.

The brunette lay silently, his head lolled to the side, hair falling into his face as his vision locked to the wall. Curling in on himself, the boy hacked and coughed out, trembling and wheezing in between vigorous coughs. Soon enough, he was retching up more blood. Splaying out on the sheets, splattered in deep red patches in front of his mouth. Wirt exhaled slow, wiping his mouth slower, shaking to himself before glancing up to Beatrice and covering the blood with his hand. He merely nodded, and sat himself up, covering the blood with the sheets and grabbing the mug, carefully downing a few sips. Hoping to hell it wouldn't come back up soon.

Beatrice stood up, sitting next to him on the bed, trying not to move too much. She took the mug back from him once he was done, setting it on the ground extremely quietly. She then held the damp rag up to his face, the other cupping his cheek to steady him as she wiped the blood from off his lips in slow , gentle circles. Some of it looked fresh... Beatrice pushed the thought away and continued to wipe away the smeared blood going up his cheek to his ear. Once she was finished with his face she picked up one of his hands, cupping it in her own as she glides the rag over and in between his thin, bony fingers.

Exhaling, Wirt closed his eyes and dug his teeth to his cheek, swallowing painfully. Nothing wanted to stay down, he supposed.

The feeling of her soft hands and the damp rag tickling at his skin, mixes of water and blood occasionally dripping down from his chin and forearm as she cleaned him up. He looked up for a moment; eyes narrowing as he spoke in quiet intervals.

"The obsidian cricket of our inevitable twilight.. singing our requiem." He spoke, one hand still gripping at the sheets of blood as he spoke, turning it out of Beatrice's view.

Beatrice finished up his hand, turning it over and cleaning off the blood from in between his fingers and the spots that had smeared down the back of his palm. She looked up at him and tucked some of his hair behind his ear, reaching to hold out his collar and let the small drops of blood seep into the rag. It was always best to get blood out of cloth as quickly as possible. Remembering this, she turned the rag inside out and dabbed at the hem of her dress, where his blood also stained.

Beatrice didn't respond at his poetry and instead offered her other hand when she was finished with her dress. "Give me your other hand." She said, softly but sternly.

He glanced up blankly, before gathering himself. "Ah- um..- okay." Wirt spoke, breathy as ever. He hesitantly shifted his weight over and moved his leg over the patch of deep red, the sheets bunching up. Gently, he moved his hand to her, palm down.

Wirt remaimed silent for the ordeal, his head tipping as she cleaned his collar off. His stare locked on the curve of the wood panels on his wall, the many strands of nature from the wood looking much like veins to him. He exhaled slowly, his grip tightening. Whatever he had now, whatever it was, why was he plagued with it..? Perhaps it was revenge from someone, upon him. What had he done to anyone in his short life? He had fought with his mother over something as ridiculous as his own comfort. He never wanted to be apart from his mother, he never wanted another father. Though... Greg. He had never welcomed Greg, he was filled with denial for a longing five years. The boy... his brother. His younger brother, had put such an impact on him now, he couldn't live without the grief. If he were to find out, hell, if his family were to find out he were... dying... they would be ruined. His friends may have forgotten him. To no surprise. And.. the girl- her name... what was it? Sophie.. Sadie.. S.... Hhm...

Beatrice grabbed his hand and repeated the same motions, although this hand had more blood on it. The rag was practically soaking now. She'd get the woodsman a new one if it didn't come out. She made her way with the soft circles on his palm and the back of his hand before setting it down. "You look a bit less pale." She murmured, but wasn't sure if she just wanted him to be.

Wirt's stare trailed to the wall longingly, his eyes dim and his grip pressed lightly into the soft sheets as she worked the rag over his soaked palm.

"Is that so.." he spoke, looking over to her with a bit of a blank expression, before falling to a dim smile. Fading not long after. He glanced to the ring of splattered crimson on the sheets beside him, strategically hidden beneath his leg from the girl in front of him. Slowly, Wirt rose and walked to the end of his room at the oak wook table, lifting up a carving of an elk and looking it over. He grazed his finger over it lightly, his eyelids lowering a tad as a small chuckle rose from his scratchy throat. He felt awfully weak, though, that could wait. "I can't really seem to think up new poetry.." he began, turning the statue in his palm. "I'm not sure why I keep forcing it.. maybe it's a surpressed feeling. Keeping me back, I mean." He laughed out, tossing the figure aside on his desk and sauntering back to his bed. "Not much that poetry can even heal, but... it soothes the mind in a way, I guess?" He spoke out, toying with the bed sheets again. "Just... suppressed feelings..." looking down, the boy sighed out shakily and held his arm.

"Maybe you're just having writers block." Beatrice suggested, her eyes and back following him over to the desk and back. She turned her head back to the bed, as it was straining her neck to remain turned at that angle. She looked down at the blood soaked sheets and took a deep breath. It was almost as if this was normal now. She didn't want it to be. "I understand, sometimes I like to draw. Not much though. I've never been any good." Beatrice responded, dabbing at the stain with her cloth. She didn't look up when Wirt sat down beside her again, until she was done toying with the blood. She hardly made a dent. She'd help him change the sheets in a moment. Then again... what if he just coughed up more... That'd be a snake eating it's own tail.

"Mh.."

He raised his hand to his face, examining the crevices closely before lowering his hand down again. "I'd suppose it's not too hard to get in my state." He spoke, soft.

Gently, the boy took the rag from her and turned to the door, his eyes met with The Woodsman's. "Boy, what in God's name-" he began. "Right, s-sir, I'm honestly not sure what's-... I just.." he inhaled long, closing his eyes for a moment.

"Just.. while we were out, I felt that burning again, and instead of my usual outbreak, I coughed blood and... just.." he looked down, noting the Woodsman's expression. Disgust, anguish. He knew far more than Wirt, obviously. Nobody.. hardly anybody got sick here. Deathly sick, well.. that meant more than just a cough. That was not possible here. The Woodsman knew far from his brief knowledge of the illness. "Young man.. you... do you have a fever? Lay back down." With a curt nod, he shakily pushed into the sheets and lay down, apologizing silently to Beatrice. Soon, Esther pushed through to him and was at his side. He grinned weakly up to her. "Goodness- um! Wirt, did this just start today?" She spoke, the back of her palm now to his forehead. She narrowed her eyes, and sighed, before going back to her father and muttering words between him, the man nodding back with a tender expression.

"Ahh.. Boy, get good rest. And you?" He pointed to the red head, "Beatrice, it's nearly late. Will you help him into some pajamas and get to your family soon? They must be worried." He remarked. Beatrice nodded quickly, with a soft 'yes sir.' Wirt pushed himself up weakly to watch as they exited, closing the door.

He would pretend that night that this day hadn't occurred.

 

 

 


	6. Steel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self harm tw! If it makes you uncomfortable, just skip to after the break.

A week passed.

Pounds had been shed, his skin now a sick, pasty tone. He felt more weak as the days stretched on, though he insisted on going for late walks when no one was suspicious. The tress grounded him, gave him a sense of connectivity.. stability. As if he had grown into them. As the days grew on, he found himself falling into more fits, more blood being vomited out, more dry throats and plenty more burning hot baths. Esther was trying her hardest to keep him at ease, giving him what tea was available and soothing him during fits. As well as helping him through the days. This, sometimes made the boy as frustrated as ever. Though this could be his last month in the unknown, he could easily tend to himself certain days.  
Trailing his veins with his fingers as the moon light filtered through his window, Wirt's eyes grew narrow as his fingers dragged up to his upper arm. He quickly hassled to shove up the sleeve, his pupils shrinking extraordinarily. His thumb dragged along the skin, growing to a thick, deep grey, hard callused texture. Like old wood, embedded and twined, melted, into his pale milky skin. His finger dragged over what felt like... a crevice? He gnawed at his lip out of uncomfortable feeling, finding three more holes delving into the hard, dark wooded area. Wirt inhaled sharp and gripped hard at his arm, his chest rising and falling fast as he scrambled to his carving table, clawing at his knife, knocking it from the dresser. He swore under his breath, and picked up the weapon again. Settling into his bed, Wirt looked down, prodding the metal at the hard area, then

Shhnk..

Hardly touching the spot, Wirt yelped out and gritted his teeth, glaring down at his arm. That had felt like every nerve in his body had coiled together, and they all snapped together. Sending jolts of stinging, burning, aching, chills through his body. Backing up to the wall, Wirt's chest rose and fell, his hands gripping and releasing the sheets rapidly, his eyes darting about the room. Soon, he squeezed his eyes shut and gripped at his abdomen, shivering. Shhnk.. His jaw locked and unlocked as he let out a strangled yell, his eyes shutting tight as the same feeling surged across his body. He stared the moonlit piece of metal down, throwing the tool across the room.

This would be fun to explain the next morning.

*~*~*~*

Beatrice wasn't quire sure what to do. Wirt seemed to be getting frailer by the day. And she wanted to dote on him and make sure he was okay constantly. But that would get annoying to him. And she had already done that enough to annoy herself. She was currently sitting in the window seat of her room, toying with the hem off her dress. Her head rested on the window, pressed up against it a bit irritatingly, she didn't bother making herself more comfortable though. Today her hair was in a messy braid, falling down the side of her collar. Her dress was a bit longer today, White overdress with a light blue under dress. Cinched around her waist with a blue bow. Her Jack Russel sat at the foot of the window, looking up at her and making quiet whining noises.

A knock on the door and her mother walked into the room. "Dinner is ready, Beatrice, come and wash up."

"Not hungry."

"You didn't eat Supper or breakfast, don't give me that." Beatrice shrugged.

"My stomach feels queasy. "

"I can read you like a book." Her mother sighed, Beatrice had been distant lately, but the entire house knew something was wrong with their new friend, and didn't want to ask  
Beatrice about it. She wouldn't be able to give them an answer anyway. She looked over at her folded dress from last week sitting on the table. When her mom asked where the blood came from she said she scraped her knees. But Beatrice's mother wasn't easy to fool and found out eventually it was Wirt's blood. Beatrice broke down that night, as she had been holding back most of her tears for the week. Continuing to help dress and undress Wirt, clean the blood from his lips and shirt cuffs. Beatrice didn't say much during those moments. She did her best to stay cheerful around him though. Two depressed and down people didn't make a good combination.

The Woodsman wouldn't tell them anything. But Beatrice knew he knew something she didn't. He'd been here longer than she had. Much longer. Beatrice figured that was because telling them wouldn't change the outcome....

She waved her mother away, and stood up, scratching Jack behind the ears. He could tell something was off as well.

Beatrice wandered down the stairs, her own legs feeling a bit shaky. Her family greeted her, the youngest ones the most excitedly. She smiled and waved at them and sat down, forcibly eating quickly at the table so she didn't have time to think about being nauseous. She didn't contribute much to the conversations, but did giggle at something her father said every now and then. She stood up from the table, stacking the wood plate on a table and taking a swig of water straight from the basin. She was out the door two seconds later, a shall around her shoulders to protect her from the rain that was falling.

She wore her usual blue flats today, but the shall was brown. She walked at first, but started to run as a sinking feeling set into her stomach. As a result the bottom of her dress got a bit dirty, but she knew she couldn't stop. She continued to half jog, half trot down the path until she arrived at the woodsmen's cabin, her hair sopping. She used the towel to dry it off, picking bits and pieces of wet hair from off her cheeks and out of her eyes. She panted. "Heh..huh...Hey Esther." She replied to the girl standing in the doorway. She looked somber. They always looked somber. "Can I come in?" She only visited for a few minutes yesterday, her mother forcing her to do chores. It was nice to have a day away though, to be honest. To think over things. As much as Beatrice worried for her friend, she had calmed slightly. She had a feeling that would change.

Arriving to the door, Esther grasped the handle gently and cautiously peaked through. Giving the red head a reassuring hum, and a nod.  
"Wirt went to bed early tonight, with the whole early nights getting him in a fuss... Though he may be reading. You may go say hi, if you'd like." She smiled soft, a hand grasping at her brown locks, pulling them up front to cover her collar bones on one side.

Pulling his blankets up, Wirt peered at the light from underneath his door and swallowed harshly. Talking... That was not just Esther. It was Beatrice. But why, it was so late? The Woodsman had already settled down to reading over his book, Esther had begun sewing, he had slept. Or, attempted. Attempted poetry as well.  
However the crumbled papers on his floor, splattered in ink and blood.. pencil scratches, his pencil strewn the side, lit by the candle light clearly illustrated he had thrown an unwanted fit from finally succumbing to this illness.

Beatrice walked into the room cautiously, knocking her knuckles on the side of the door as she walked in. "Evening." She greeted him, walking into the room. He looked even paler than yesterday. She walked up next to him, kneeling down next to the bed and sitting on her heels. She dropped the damp shall onto the floor.

Wirt clutched the blanket around himself, his eyes darting about to her anxiously. The pang of raindrops only seemed to get louder and louder behind him, the moon illuminating behind his dark figure.

"Why did you come so late?" He inquired, not looking down, his blank eyes dragging to the wall again. As if he were blind. It was more of a demand than a question. Though, he was scared.

"Missed you." Beatrice replied, looking to the candle that was burning softly by the window. "Wanted to check on you." She added, watching the rain drops collide and slide down the window. In a few minutes the sky would be dark. But for now she could see the faint outline of the trees outside the window. She'd appreciate it if she wasn't so tired.

"I... tried writing again.." he looked down to the floor slowly, one hand clenching around his arm with an iron grip, feeling the wood seem to tangle around his bone and tendon, the hard material rubbing roughly inside of him. Or... the skin? He did not know what it was. But he wanted it out now.

He looked to Beatrice, then, blinking slow. He honestly did feel pity for her now, sorrow. Taking away her time to tend to a body which would only die soon, what was the point?

"Still blocking?" Beatrice asked the boy with a bit of sympathy in her voice, looking down at the papers scattered across the floor. Some crumpled and thrown, others just lying flat.

"The stars, but shattered glass against the shrouded sky. The sea-sick fields ever waving goodbye... a misplaced soul.. sailing parts unknown." Raising his hand to move the candle, the brunette exhaled painfully. "It's... nothing good, Beatrice. My poetry is lacking at best. Pretty awful right now..."

Beatrice stood up and walked around the room, bending down to pick them up one by one, until she flattened the crumpled ones out and placed them all in a awkward pile on the desk. "You've done a lot though, that's good." She turned to pick up a couple of more when she stopped, looking at the whittling knife under the table. "What's this doing on the floor? Don't you know better than to leave sharp objects on the floor?" She reached and bent down under the desk to pick it up and set it on the table, turning it over by the handle with her finger. There was something on the blade that looked red and black, blotchy and dried. She looked back over at him, her words catching in her throat as she tried to swallow and speak at the same time. "You didn't..."

 

He glanced over, his eyebrow cocking in frustration at her. His fingers gripped and dug at his arm, at the soaked cloth now seeping to his fingers, a familiar feeling. Crimson soon seeping through the cracks of his flesh. And.. what looked like black oil.  
He glanced up and gripped harder at his arm, gnawing on the inside of his cheek.

"What are you talking about?" He retorted, silent as a lamb.

"Th-Theres-" Beatrice held up the blade with a shaky breath. "There's blood on this knife." She stated blatantly, not wanting to phrase a question. She set the other paper in her hand ontop of the rest, her hips leaning against the table for support.

"Beatrice..." Wirt began, slowly pushing himself from the bed. He cautiously walked over to her, legs weak. "It's- honestly not what it looks like.. it's.. not what you think." He spoke, one hand moving to her's, which was gripping the knife. His injured arm facing away from her.

Beatrice flinched away from him despite his calm movements, her other hand shooting back to grip at the edge of the table. She tipped her head up a bit, looking down at him. She pursed her lips and furrowed eyebrows, frustrated at herself for getting so worked up and frustrated at him for whatever the explanation was. "I don't- You- Why-" She stuttered out.

"Beatrice, listen." He began, the door falling shut slowly with a breeze. He circled to her side, eyes narrowed a bit at her, his movements cautious as ever, his lips pursed. "Don't.... don't- jump to conclusions..... put down my knife." He spoke, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm going to keep jumping to conclusions until you e-explain." Beatrice said, the hand holding the knife shaking a bit. She tossed it onto the desk with a thud and a few clicks. She turned away from him for a moment before looking him straight in the eye, her own slightly teary, blue eyes gazing him down. She tried to look stern. She had a feeling she didn't.

Wirt's cold hand snapped to press her's into the wood of the table, pinning it as his eyes met momentarily with her's. Beatrice gasped a bit when Wirt's hand pinned hers. Her eyes frantically searched his face. He exhaled through gritted teeth, hearing the clanking of the metal reverberate against the hard wood. He looked up, his eyes locking closely with her own, the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes making his stomach coil. His grip slowly peeled off, his hand going back to quickly cover his arm. He turned fast, facing away and gripping tighter. "If I tell you... if it would even matter... you would still be scared." He exhaled. "It's more than I can take, me, being the source of your pain." He spoke, turning his head vaguely to look at the wall, showing his intentions were in fact to her.

Beatrice bit at her lips and when he realized and moved away, she almost sighed in relief. He had been having more.... outbursts like that lately.

"I'm going to be scared no matter what you do." Beatrice murmured, staring at his back. He was still hiding his arm. She saw specks of blood. She felt sick.

"No matter.... what I do." Wirt looked away, before turning, sauntering behind her slowly and grabbing the knife, slipping it into his pocket. "Right." He was calm to walk to his bed, and lean near the window. "For me, or.. of me?" The brunette asked, scoffing. "I mean, I... I really don't care at this point, but, tell me, Beatrice." He spoke, raising his hands up a bit, grinning weakly. "I don't have much else to loose. Tell me."

"I...I don't know." Beatrice said, looking at the floor. "I... I...Don't put me in this position." She bit her tongue, sinking to the floor for a moment. The energy was... the energy was.. "For you... Of you..." She looked up at him, shaking still. What happened. What had happened what had wirt done what had he been doing why was the knife covered in blood why did he take it why was he talking to her like this why. Beatrice stared down at the floor, her eyes wide. "I'm not... I'm not... scared of you." She shook, looking up. "I'm never going to be scared of you." She decided, sitting back, folding her arms over her knees and averting her eyes.

Wirt laughed weakly and dropped his head, staring to the floor and squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, swallowing back tears. Slowly, he sunk to the floor and grasped his arm tightly, exhaling. "B-Beatrice.." the knife fell from his hands. "L-listen... I... I'm.... so scared.." he coughed, pressing his hand palm down to the floor. "Of myself... I... I'm so s..orry.." he choked out, swallowing, talking slow and trying to force back any tears. He didn't deserve to cry now. This was his fault.

Beatrice's head shot up and her eyes softened almost instantly. She instantly scrambled up and over in front of him, almost stumbling in the process. "Wirt. Wirt listen to me this isn't your- this isn't your fault this isn't.. mghm... This isn't you." She said quickly, her hands hovering above him, not sure where to rest. Not sure if she was allowed to touch him. The thought hurt. She knelt down in front of him, her hands resting on the floor, next to his feet. Wirt stared up, then down fast, shaking his head to himself and raggedly running his fingers through his hair.

"N..no. I... it is me... I'm sick-... I'm.." he exhaled, gripping the mixture of blood and oil seeping from the cloth on his arm. "I'm dying." Wirt spoke, straightforward and flat, his stomach curling uncomfortably at the words.

Beatrice's heart lept into her throat. She swallowed hard, her head spinning. "Don't be silly. That's hilarious. You're not d....dying." Beatrice breathed out, each word feeling like a stab wound. "You're not. You're okay. You'll be okay." She nodded quickly, her hair falling into her face. She glanced down at his arm, feeling lightheaded. She swayed a bit, noticing the black and red again. She turned away, closing her eyes and hiccuping before opening and blinking quickly, banishing tears.

Wirt said nothing.

He simply looked up, his heart beat slower than average in his ribcage. He carefully reached forward, before quickly, latching his body to her's in a trembling hug.

He buried his face into her shoulder, tangled their legs a bit in attempts to get comfortable.

He breathed through his nose, swallowing hard and blinking back tears as he gripped her dress. "I'm not sure if I can.. make it through this. Without any high medicinal care.... if I do, then, not into adulthood..." he spoke, sniffing back tears, jolting as a sharp surge of the nerves snapping, his arm burning, came right back.

Beatrice hugged him back, firmly but gently, as if hugging any tighter would break his frail bones. "I... You will. You'll make it." She choked out, and when his arm recoiled, she stared down at it, pulling away from him slowly. "Let.... Let me... Can I..." Beatrice started softly, shakily, as she opened a palm for his arm. Wirt silently gripped at the sleeve of his night shirt, looking up worriedly for a moment, before flinching away again.

"Wh- no no no no, no- I'm.... I-I mean...." he grabbed the wound and exhaled sharply. "It's.... you... you wouldn't like what you saw..." he spoke, looking away slow.  
"..You would be scared."

"Wirt, I'm already scared." Beatrice laughed a bit wheezily, her eyelids heavy. "We need to bandage it Wirt..." She said softly, a hand going to rest on his knee. She was trying to be as comforting and positive as possible. Wirt squinted at her and pressed his lips in a thin line, scoffing.

"It's not okay to be as emotionally distressed as me, you know." He gripped at the fabric anxiously, inhaling.

"I'm not emotionally distressed." Beatrice spat out indignantly, averting her eyes. but as soon as he spoke again they were back.

"Okay.. just.. please, for the love of The Unknown, do not tell a soul." He spoke, looking up with sorrow. Before slowly edging up the sleeve, his hands trembling horribly.

"I won't...." She promised quietly. She looked down as he hiked up his sleeve and as soon as she saw the boy's arm she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth and gripping her cheeks. She breathed through her fingers, her eyes wide. He gazed up, swallowing harshly and catching the skin of his inner cheek between his molars, a buzzing noise reverberating through his ear as he viewed her expression. Wirt winced a bit as she flinched away, feeling as though a heart string had been gnawed at. It hurt. To see her wince, see her flinch away from him, to gasp. She was scared of him. This is what he gained from the moment. One of her trembling hands reached down to gently place on the skin. She recoiled when she realized it was cold and hard.

There were etchings in it that looked like blade marks, confirming her suspicion. Beatrice's throat felt dry. She looked at her palm, her heart beat increasing in worry and fear. It was covered in blood and something black. She brought it to her face and sniffed, on instinct. Her eyebrows flew up her face. The smell was strong, and stung her nose. She could taste it in her mouth clear as day. "It's oil." She sobbed out, still glancing warily at his arm. She stood up, running out of the room and into the kitchen as fast as possible. Cautiously, Wirt delved his finger into a crevice, which acted as a pool of some sort. With oil now dripping down his finger as he brought it to his nose, Wirt closed his eyes tight and gripped at his stomach. It was oil. It was oil, from a tree, specifically. An Edelwood tree. He knew, he knew the smell distinctly. Why-.... why was it growing from him, was he turning into.. one..? The Beast was gone, he had been defeated, so why was he spewing oil and blood from wooden crevices clung to his bone? "I need bandages. Please....Don't ask." Beatrice stated, her expression shaky, as hard as she tried to remain calm.

Shortly after, Esther had ran and grabbed cloth, shoving it at Beatrice with another worried expression. She hoped Esther would assume it was just more blood from Wirt's lungs. She was back on the floor next to Wirt, within the next few minutes, cream cloth in her hand. "Lift up your arm..."

By Beatrice's return, Wirt was curled in on himself, near hyperventilation as he clawed and gripped at his arm, attempting to surpress tears.

"Wirt, what are you doing? Wirt! Stop!" Beatrice called out, grabbing his hand and pulling it away from him. "Don't do that. It doesn't help." Wirt pulled himself away from her grasp anxiously, one hand clutching at his abdomen, his eyes looking over her, near tears. He exhaled sharply, hair askew in his face. Eventually, the boy silently obliged, tears streaking his cheeks as she wrapped the bandage tight over his wound. This made him jolt, groan, grip the wood frame of the bed and hiss between his teeth from the sharp pain. He thought to rip himself away, but, he knew she was only helping. The pain wasn't intentional, he had to remind himself. He had to remember that she wasn't out to get him. Nobody was. He was merely out to get himself. Beatrice finished softly, placing his hand on her knee and moving to pick up his arm. She glanced down at it, a bit horrified, but trying not to be. It was just Wirt. This was just Wirt. She noted a intent, that looked raw and torn in the middle of the wood/skin mixture. She swallowed. So that's what Wirt was doing with the knife. She banished the thought as the indent and random crevices soaked with blood. She held up his arm in one hand, the other moving to place the fabric on his upper forearm, wrapping it tightly and in layers as she worked. Eventually she was finished, and tied the bandage near his wrist. "All better." Her hands dropped.

"Gh... thank you." He choked, looking away, towards his closet with a sigh. What was in there had been eating at him for weeks. What had caused him so much trouble before. What took oil to burn, and grief to wield. The feelings he couldn't fight about that object clung to him daily.

Beatrice gritted her own teeth as Wirt clenched the bed frame and hisses at her. Not her exactly... But the pain. She felt horrid for making it worse, but this was good for him in the log run. "You're welcome." She replied softly, grabbing the folded and ruffled cuff and pulling it gently over the bandage, buttoning the fabric closed around his wrist. Beatrice followed his gaze and raised her eyebrow, deciding not to question it. Yet.

Wirt silently brought his thin knees up to his chest and snaked his arm over them, tugging his legs close and wordlessly looking away.

He felt it unnecessary to speak with her about his illness at this point. At this point, in fact, he dreaded the end.


	7. Muse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hKGQkO-Kh9M   
> Music for this chapter

A few days now passed. A few nights more dreaded. 

With blood pooling from his lips through more fits, more coughing in between gasps of air, and the night that oil spilled from his lips, pooling with blood on the floor of the bathroom, is when he knew that he couldn't possibly continue this treacherous act.. 

He had to get away.

To the forest, to his roots, to what felt like the only tangible sense of sanity amidst the rabid wolf pack circling, pooling through the midnight air in hopes to clutch his breaths, farther from the world of what he knew as the living. What they would know as an unknown. 

On a night much like the night he had bound safety for his half brother, he himself, bound to the forest with arms weak and rusted copper lantern in hand. The infection had spread rapidly up his arm now, and the Woodsman was closer to finding out about the spurts of oil, black, clotted bloodied goo trailing from his shirts to towels. Wirt had had enough of hiding himself in such a small space. So, why not venture to the woods again?

Grey. Or blue. As the sky, as the colors of an ominous winter lake late in the afternoon. No fish, no plants, just cold, dark.

Choking. 

Hours passed, he sat draped in the comforting smell of his naval nurses cloak, his body rested in the clutch of an old tree. He ignored the rush of squirrels and birds fleeing from him, for whatever reason, and instead remained calmly beside the tree, axe in his lap and his lantern burning with a hazy light. His fingers pressed to the snow, or... the ground. The ground was merely dirt and grass, mushrooms and wild flowers protruding from the earth. Why did it.. feel like snow? And as he though this peculiar thought, pin pricks of cold stepped over his skin, the familiar feeling of falling frost. 

Of snow. 

That night, he slept with the familiar, sickly smell of the wick burning out, and the scent of Greg on his cape as the Spring night granted him a cold night of rest.   
Meanwhile, more milky skin was to convert to the hard scrub of Edelwood tree, roots delving to the bone and few branches beginning their ways from his flesh, a new sign of life. A new sign of Spring.

As the curl of life will find new leaves in even a rotting carcass of death's grip. We are not but wayward pawns, black and white porcelain, in the game of what we call souls.

And Wirt, The Guardian of The Unknown, was to find out how to play chess in due time.

Wirt sat silent beneath the tree, his palm facing away from his face as he examined the wood slowly creeping up his fingers, a much faster pace now. He had concluded that the forest energized the growth process much more than stale cabin air. Though, he had began to grow fond of the patches of hard wood linking through his frail tendons. It made him much stronger, now. Though he still coughed up oil..  
His gaze fixated upon a lovely weeping willow that sat dormant, roots plunged into the ground, connected to the earth. In a way, he felt like that. Connected, dormant to the world. A lone but wise soul. n no heed for causing trouble. 

Pushing himself up, lantern in hand, axe in the other, Wirt carried himself under the willow, setting his things aside and placing his dead hand upon the tree, exhaling with a tired smile. It had been long since he felt any sort of tranquility..  
"Like distant ship swirling upon a cerulean current, I, too.. am confident in loneliness.." he spoke, walking in quiet steps around the large willow. "Though the roots of the willow bind me to what feels like contemptuous with others... as though I am one of them. Like a glistening pool; the moon. Heeds warning to other's cries in a drop of cream white. Marbles clink and scatter in the clarity of a lost childhood..." he paused, delicately holding a wisp from the tree.   
"I too am a wayward soul."   
His hand dropped, the slowed to reach to his neck, pressing lightly at the slowly creeping wood, as he looked up to the sun rising in the sky.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Beatrice woke the next morning feeling sick. Ut was raining and she felt clammy and feverish. The girl stumbled into her family's small bathroom, looking at herself in the mirror. Her forehead was sweaty and her hair was damp. She had to physically try not to retch into the tub.   
Another nightmare. Another dream. They weren't nightmares anymore. Nightmares showed your head what your biggest fear was. Beatrice had already seen half of it. She pulled her hair back with her fingers, her other hand gripping the vanity with white knuckles. She still feelt like vomiting. Dealing with Wirt was sapping her strength and her state of mind. She somehow always pulled herself together before arriving at his home despite it all. 

It didn't matter much anyway. Her mom had begun to stop forcing her to eat breakfast, as every morning she did she felt even more sick the rest of the day. She bit her lip, glaring at her image in the mirror, her head tipped down but her eyes pointed up so stare back at herself. 

Disgusting. You can't save him. 

She pulled herself away from the sink at that, trying to keep herself from punching her reflection. Beatrice stumbled back into her room, throwing herself back under the covers and hurrying her face under them. Beatrice coughed. Same dream as always. Same reality as always. Sometimes she had a dream where everything was okay. Either Wirt was home safe, or he was with her, Laughing. A lot of the time, they were eating strawberries. Wishing for a different outcome.

She wakes up crying most mornings. She doesn't mind it. Best to get it all out while asleep anyway. Aside from the pounding headache and dry throat it was easy enough to deal with. Everything was easy to deal with in contrast to Wirt. 

No blood. No screaming. 

Beatrice screamed a lot when no one was there.   
How cruel. 

Wirt had deteriorated more than she ever imagined. Beatrice knew. Beatrice knew he didn't have much left, but he could somehow still stand despite his condition. She didn't understand. 

For some reason the feeling of sickness was almost nostalgic for her. She didn't know why. 

Wirt's skin was seeping and hardening more as well. Beatrice did her best to cover him in bandages and pretend it wasn't happening. It was obvious that Wirt was turning into something else. He wasn't dying... His body wasn't dying. His soul was. 

The thought made a small noise slip out of her throat as she gripped the pillow in her weak fingers. 

Every day it was the same. Wake up, sometimes retch, go to Wirt's home, take care of him as much as she could, come back, pretend everything was okay.   
Beatrice laid in her bed for another hour. Or maybe it was two hours. Or maybe five minutes... She stood up, slipping off her night gown and sliding into another dress. This one was brown, and quite comfy. It had a low neck and ruffles down the buttons in the front, near her bust. 

The rest of her house hadn't woken up yet, so she slipped outside with ease, tying her hair up in a messy bun, as if to portray her composure. She walked slowly, a feeling of dread setting into her legs and stomach. 

She wasn't wearing shoes today. The grass was soft. She walked into the backyard of her house, taking down last nights washing with shaky fingers and tossing them in a beige basket her father had weaved. As soon as the task was finished, she began to walk to Wirt's. Or the Woodsman's. 

As it took around ten minutes to get there, she was a bit out of breath, but not terribly. 

She didn't knock on the door. Esther told her she didn't need to after waking them up in the middle of the night because she woke up with a dream that Wirt had died and needed to make sure he was okay. 

He was- but-well- he wasn't... 

She shut the door softly, walking on the least creaky wood panels and into Wirt's room. He wasn't there. She figured he must be in the bathroom, so she waited for him on the bed for a few minutes, before giving up and walking into the bath, peering in. He wasn't there either. But oil splattered the floor. She grabbed one of the cloths on the sink and wiped it down, her average routine. 

Beatrice walked out of the room and back into Wirt's. If he wasn't here... and he wasn't in the bathroom then... 

She looked to the closet, which was open, and threw herself towards it, glancing into the dark area wildly. The sun was hardly up. She sifted and searched through his shirts.   
No. 

No.

No.... he'd get lost again he'd get kille- he'd 

He'd loose himself. 

The cloak was gone. Beatrice glanced around the room, running to the desk and grabbing the knife and jogging to the windowsill to grab the candle. She lit it with a small match resting next to it. 

Beatrice left the small cabin, closing the door, trying not to wake the house with her frantic movements. She was several yards into the woods before she called out his name. As if looking for a lost dog. 

Beatrice had been wandering in the woods for around twenty minutes, not worrying about getting lost as she jogged around the woods. She turned suddenly, upon hearing a familiar voice and her heart almost lifted. But it sounded calm. And tranquil. Not... not the one she knew for the past few months. She turned in the direction of the voice, running a bit faster. She saw the red pointed hat first, through the trees, almost blinking at her, and she ran through them, relieved, and a bit blissful. Despite it all, her foot caught on a root, and she fell flat on her chest. The candle clattered away and burned out from the fall. As did the knife that had been resting in her hand by her side. At the sudden rush of footsteps, and a clatter, Wirt bounced back and clutched the tree in surprised, looking down with wider eyes than before. Slowly, he calmed, exhaling slowly. Beatrice curled up on the ground for a moment before sitting up, feeling her weight more than ever. She looked up at the boy, her eyes confused, and a bit sad, but also a small spark of hope in hearing his poetry again....

"I could've used that candle... Hm....." he paused, furrowing his eyebrows. "Why did you follow me here?" He spoke, kneeling down a bit, his hand grasping her's and slowly lifting her up, albeit a bit pained. Beatrice let him lift him up, and she realized he had a lot of strength back. Not completely, but she could tell he could hold himself up better. How odd. Wirt then turned, looking up the tree with a small grin, the bags under his eyes contradicting it a bit. 

"You weren't home. I got worried." Beatrice murmured, looking up at him and searching his face. 

"Beatrice.. can't you believe it? I can write poetry again. I'm... so glad..." He spoke, his hand resting upon the trunk, both his hand and the willow appearing similar. 

"That's wonderful..." She softly replied to him, looking him up and down. She reached a hand back to touch at the bark on his neck softly. "Your neck..." 

"Mh.." he tilted his neck to the side a bit, before slowly edging himself away, turning to the tree again. She bit her lip and looked him in the eyes heavily. His dark brown eyes looked milky in the middle. But only barely. Beatrice could only tell being this close. Beatrice had once met a blind man before, a long time ago, and she recalled how white his eyes were, and how he wouldn't look at her. She recalled asking her mother what was wrong with him, and her, hushing Beatrice and apologizing..She wondered if he too, was going blind.

"I don't really mind it now... When I'm here, it doesn't hurt. In fact it makes me feel stronger." Wirt chuckled out, his other hand clutching his cloak lightly. "Though.. I think it snowed while I slept last night. It's really cold outside now." 

"What do you mean? It's... It's Summer." Beatrice sputtered out, tipping her head. Her dress was covered in dirt, as was her cheek and palms. She looked down at them, remembering the last time they were like this. She looked up and shook her head. 

"Already...?" He asked, turning away, facing the bark of the tree.

He placed his palm against the tree, exhaling slowly. "I don't see anything wrong in staying here.."

"You can't st...." Beatrice stopped herself, sighing, "This place makes you happy, doesn't it?" She asked softly, watching him. Her shoulder burned from the fall. She ignored it.

"I can... it does, really! I... I haven't felt happier. In months, Beatrice." Wirt smiled, walking away and leaning down to pick up his lantern, before slowly gliding to her, the grass folding beneath his shoes, under his weight. 

"I'm glad, Wirt." She replied, smiling softly. Something was... off about him, but he recognized her and he seemed at peace... Beatrice tried not to worry about it too much. She licked her lips and pursed them, her teeth gnawing on her cheek. Delicately, he lifted his hand to hold her chin with his lithe, obscure fingers, his other more human-resembling fingers wiping lightly at her cheek.

"That's a bit unseemly.." he spoke soft and low, removing the dirt on her cheek with his thumb intently, before dropping his hands and looking to her.

When he touched her chin, her heart sped up. He hadn't placed hands on her in a long while.... Aside from grasping at her clothing, he hadn't actually gently touched her. Beatrice averted her eyes and closed them, letting him remove the dirt.

"I suppose..." She replied softly.

Wirt set himself down slowly onto the grass, gesturing kind heartedly for her to sit with him. The nature was solemn, though tranquil in a way. He felt the need to keep Beatrice there with him, for some reason. 

"So.." he began, looking over to her slowly. "I... I suppose... I've been a bit selfish lately, huh?" Wirt looked up, a hand now to his neck as the wood seeped to his jaw line. "You've been tending to me so diligently... I can only assume its been hurting you."

Beatrice shrugged, settling herself down next to him. She almost... liked this Wirt. He did make her feel uneasy though. He was too calm. "Not really." She lied, answering both questions as she flattened out the creases in her skirt that rested over her knees.

"I see..." he spoke, looking to the woods as his hand rested beside her's. "I'll make sure to be less selfish, then. You don't deserve that kind of pain." Pushing his cape out of the way of his lantern, he thought. She could be read like a book. Despite a complicated book.... he enjoyed the content.

"...Okay." Beatrice replied softly with a nod. She looked to him, a gnawing feeling in her stomach. She set her jaw, noticing the bark on his neck again. It wasn't as bad on this side, but she couldn't help. And the poor boys hands were completely covered now. The sight scared her at first. But she knew Wirt wouldn't harm her... and that always calmed her down... "You don't deserve this kind of pain." She said softly, turning and reaching forward to cup his jaw. Wirt's eyes widened a bit at the words, causing him to slowly turn, facing her. He smiled somberly, the feeling of her hands gentle on his skin, not trembling, gave him a vaguely familiar feeling... of gratitude. Perhaps infatuation? It made his stomach coil, his heart clench. Though.. not painfully.

Wirt banished his ideas long ago that Beatrice could have feared him in this state... Thankfully. Though, for days it drove him to mass frustration. To anger, cursing to himself over the smallest things. He enjoyed staying out of trouble as much as possible, not causing harm to anyone's lives, so in those times he felt completely hopeless.

"Beatrice..." he spoke, soft as the new light of day, as his hand went to delicately press against her neck, his pointer finger at her jaw, light as a feather.

"Yes, Wirt?" Beatrice prompted, swallowing. Her eyes were teary. She coudn't tell if she was glad or sad. This was Wirt but.... wasn't... And she wasn't sure what to think of it either. But she pressed on and hummed softly, leaning into his touch a bit. It was cold, but satisfying.

Wirt's eyebrows furrowed in worry a bit as his finger went to wipe away a tear rolling from her eye, his other hand looping around her waist delicately.  
"You... seem like you're scared..." He spoke, eyelids lowering a bit.   
"Are you..?"

Beatrice hiccuped a bit and shook her head. "No...I'm not scared. I'm not scared I promise. I told you I wouldn't be scared." She repeated with a firm voice, not letting her confused state get through to her.

"Hey... hey... Bea... it's ok. We're okay-" he paused, leaning forward to press his lips lightly to her forehead. She was panicking, he thought.  
"-it's... just me." He spoke. Her words sounded as if she were reassuring herself, reminding herself not to fear him... this snapped at his heart strings.

Beatrice choked at the nickname. So long. "We're...we're...." She tried to repeat the words back at him. But knew. They weren't okay. She could try and believe they were...but she didn't know if they ever would be again... She wished she could go back to the time when.... Beatrice realized there wasn't a time she wished they could go back to. Before Adelaide... no... after...no....The thought only made her state worse.

"...We're okay..." he spoke, pulling away and forcing a smile, his hand delicately pushing a few strands of hair back to frame her face.   
Slowly; as if cautious of scaring her, Wirt tipped up her head gingerly by the chin, his other hand gently gripping the fabric by her hip as she neared tears.   
Closing the space between them, he lightly pressed his lips to hers, closing his eyes at the soft feeling. Wirt decided to stay there for roughly ten seconds.   
And once he pulled away, knowing she did not return it ... he looked away timidly, moving his hands back to his lap. 

Beatrice brought a trembling hand to her lips once he broke away. Wirt. Wirt just... Wirt kissed her. Beatrice's heart sped fast. "Did you ever- Did you ever think of me as-" She stuttered, her eyes widening. More hope.... "Is this you- Have you always wanted to-" She stopped herself. 

"I'm sorry..." he spoke, turning away and clutching his chest beneath the cape.

"... No... It's me who should be sorry." She averted her eyes to the ground.

"I suppose I have... but.. just now my anxieties sort of fled me." He spoke, nervously clutching the cloak around his form. "I... have.. yes. Yeah- just... I refused my feelings for the longest time. And- lately I had given up." He exhaled shakily, closing his eyes. "It would be hopeless, you know? To be this sick and... to possibly die.. and to leave you behind..? I refused the idea of hurting you more. Unnecessarily so." He coughed a bit, a coiled spring now tight up in his chest, tears pooling in his eyes. "The willows soft wisps in comparison to the bluebird's gentle composure was no avail to catch the smitten eyes of the obdurate vagabond.." he spoke, soft as a whisper as he stared to the grass, swaying in the breath of Summer's morning.

"I see." Beatrice muttered. She could... see... parts of Wirt. The way he wrapped the cloth around himself nervously. The way he spoke, despite the lack of stutters. She closed her eyes, listening to his poetry with keen ears. She turned towards him. "This is you." 

For now. 

Softly, she reached up to hold the fabric of his cloak. "Kiss me again." 

So that I can remember.

Wirt turned slowly back to face her, swallowing and blinking back tears in confusion. He smiled wearily, bringing a vaguely trembling hand back around her waist, his other hand back to her neck now. "L-like this..?" He spoke, smiling, pushing back his anxieties a bit. This was the first time in over a year he had felt normal.

He felt okay.

They were okay. 

This was him... for as short as it would be. It was him. Them. 

Cautiously, he held the back of her neck, and moved to press his lips against her's. He began pulling off soon after, his nerves now kicking in. Perhaps she should try first... He was no good with anything bound to romance.

Beatrice smiled gently at him, his stutter music to her ears. She shook her head endearingly, bringing her hands under his arms to grip at the fabric of his button up. "Like this." She confirmed, leaning forward to press their lips together, probably a bit harder than she intended. Wirt jolted a bit at the unfamiliar feeling that her warm hands granted at his sides. Burning though his shirt, every touch another bundle of nerves coliding together with new found feelings. But Beatrice would be lying if she said she wasn't feeling quite desperate. As if this was the last time they'd be able to share a kiss, and that he'd be able to remember it. Her eyes became watery again as she kissed him.

Wirt pressed his lips onto her's delicately, his heartbeat surprisingly steady in his chest, though he felt warm flashes going through his head. This could be their last encounter so sweet, he thought. His hands tightened around their spots given, and he turned his head to give more into the kiss, now beginning to feel choked as he did so. Everything felt like it was going to burst, everything felt so warm, for once. He didnt feel like he was choking up oil, but; rather taking her sweet scent into his memory as they sat, enticed and entangled.

Beatrice gripped at the fabric as if it was a lifeline, her fingers curling into it. She kissed him, forcibly pushing back, and then backing off and being more gentle once she realized what was happening. Something she had wanted to do for so long.... but had never admitted to herself- to anyone!   
She could vaguely taste oil, and iron, but she didn't mind. It was a gross taste yes, but kissing the boy triumphed the tastes lingering on their lips. Gently, softly she kissed him, but firm.   
She pulled away after a moment, opening her eyes slowly and parting her lips. "You're crying..." She observed, one of her hands releasing his shirt to rest On his shoulder.

Wirt was immediately caught by surprise at her actions, his stomach coiling and a small noise emitting from his throat as she would push him back roughly, then his limbs would go weak, tears would swell once she began slowing her motions. His skin burned where the wood laced through his tendons, possibly to his high sensitivity at that moment. His fingers would grasp lightly at her hip as she kissed him, in return, timidly, he'd attempt to mimic the motion to her. He parted, slow; giving off a shaking breath, his eyes watering vigorously as he looked her in the eye, feeling a bit ashamed for his tears.

"Mh..." he traced his finger along her neck, of instinct, his fingers always having to fiddle with something.

"Was it too much?" Beatrice asked worriedly, her fingers reaching up to his next to her neck. She linked their fingers together nervously. "I'm sorry." She apologized quietly. not sure if Wirt's tears were joy, sadness or both... Maybe loss.... She wasn't sure what to make of him.

Wirt blinked, quick to wipe at the tears with the back of his hand and preposition himself.  
"No, no no no, j-just, it's.... my first..." he spoke, looking down, his words fading to incoherent, timid speech. He obliged, linking their fingers, nervous of her feeling to his inhuman hands pressed against her's.

"Me too. Don't worry." Beatrice laughed out with a watery smile. This was the first time they'd had a normal conversation in months. And with a kiss! 

"I'm... I'm not honestly sure why I started crying.. it just started...." Wirt spoke, sighing shakily.

"Maybe it was... the sudden reality.." Beatrice spoke out, trying to give him an answer. "Maybe you're as relieved as I am.....Or as confused as I am."

"I'm not perfectly fond with the second answer.. But I'm sure you're right. Just... nostalgia and relief, I suppose." He grinned weakly, pressing his forehead to her's and shutting his eyes.

Beatrice hummed, wrapping her arms around his neck. Ignoring the texture of the wood on her forearms.   
"Is there any way- are you going to be alright....?" Beatrice murmured with sad eyes. She asked the question that's been burning on every bodies tongue lately. No one dared ask him. He wasn't in his right mind until now. And even then....

Wirt chuckled out, his hand raising to hold the side of her face gently, looking her in the eyes as tears swelled in his own. He laughed weakly, closing his eyes and exhaling. "I'm.... in honesty, I'm not quite sure any more... If not, even if it's too late for me.. that's fine." He spoke, opening his eyes again, speaking in a light, breathy tone. "Because.... Beatrice.. I.... I'm sure, I love you. And I will until my dying day, however far that might be from now.." Wirt grinned sadly, tilting her head up a bit a pressing a slow, steady kiss to her lips.

Beatrice pulled away after a moment, gnawing on her teeth. She was glad Wirt had... accepted... the events that were happening but she wasn't sure if it was him that was accepting it... or his lack of sanity.... Beatrice looked up at him, her heart Beating almost furiously. "I..." She started. That was so blatant. Of him to just say I love you. What if he didn't. What if this was just the oil, running to his brain and destroying it. Destroying the parts that were making him anxious. It felt odd. She didn't want to reply. She didn't want to lie to this false Wirt. She did love Wirt. She loved him a lot. But... something was still wrong, and she realized she was scared to admit her feelings.

As she began to speak again, looking up to him, he decided that this was enough. So, nonchalantly, he removed himself from her, pulling his cloak around himself with a small scoff. He looked up, his body temperature fading from her's as he bound to himself again, looking to where the tree's branches connected to the trunk of an old oak tree in front of him. "I would hope it isn't fake.." he spoke, turning his head a bit to show he was presently directing his feelings to her.   
Slowly, he pushed himself up on his knees, heading to the base of the tree and gathering his axe, lantern in hand, though hidden by his cape. "Your energy isn't as comforting, Beatrice." He spoke. Beatrice watched him, biting down on her tongue. She messed up. "It's not?" She asked innocently, wrapping her own brown shall around herself again. 

"Is there something you'd like to ask me, or, tell me?"

"A-Ah...No..." She replied simply, staying on the ground. She wasn't sure if she meant for her to follow or not.

Wirt turned and laughed weakly.   
"You're nervous now." He spoke, turning again and walking towards a trail from the woods. "Don't hesitate to do so if you have to." Wirt exhaled slowly, adjusting his hat. 

"You're making me nervous." Beatrice replied blatantly, standing up and trotting after him. "I just don't have anything to ask..." she murmured, picking up the candle and the knife that were laying on the ground. 

After that, Wirt felt no need to bicker further. She was being no help to him.  
Through the walk, he wasn't sure of his destination, though his feet were certain to carry him to wherever they needed to be. He turned back a bit at he questions, then sighed through his nose and gripped the lantern. 

After a few minutes of walking in the woods In excruciatingly awkward silence, the air sharp, Beatrice piped up. "Why a weeping willow?" she asked cautiously.

"No reason.." Wirt lied, silently staring ahead through milky, grey vision. His hand moved through his nurse's cape and up to his head, pushing his hat back to feel at the right and left segments of his head, which were hindering a dull, throbbing pain.

"No reason at all?" Beatrice pressed on with a quiet nod, folded her wrists behind her while her hands held the object. "Seems kinda symbolic to me." she muttered, below a whisper.

"No reason for you to tread on, that is.." the boy remarked with a snide grin, shaking his head. "It's... silly. More than anything." Wirt spoke, swinging his axe lightly at his side."When I was young, to what I can remember, I used to read under the willow tree... I can't recall if it was a reoccurring dream, or, if it was real....But I found a sense of fascination and comfort in it's way of succoring me this evening." He shrugged, pushing his thoughts aside. " I did not feel completely dreadful waking up in a forest, that is."

"I see." Beatrice said, not really knowing where they were going. she could find her way back home anyhow, so she wasn't all worried. "I used to have a tree like that. It was a maple though. Mom did yell at me for ripping off the bark of it once, though." Beatrice said, a small swing in her step as she forced herself to be optimistic. Wirt's damaged hand gripped the axe tight as he used it to prod through a few dead twigs and tree branches, their curves and sticks dragging along his cape in uneven tempos.

"Trees are more fragile than you'd think, Beatrice. I'm not surprised at her being upset." He spoke, smooth and soft. Through few more branches he pushed, and down a small incline of moss and grass he strode. Soon, revealing what seemed to be a large body of water. 

"I was young." Beatrice replied in her defense, well knowing that the sentence probably irritated him. She tipped her nose up and pretended it didn't happen.   
She followed, the conversation long forgotten. By now the sun was up, and Seeing Wirt in daylight was odd. He hadn't been out in a while, and he seemed to fit, hidden in the trees than he did in the sunlight

The pine trees climbed up hills in the distance reflected upon the calm pond, stretching out for the length of three hills. His view softened, and a small smile grew on his lips as he stepped toward the stones residing at the shore line. "Ah..." he spoke, looking up to a few crows making their way overhead. The blue bells and cosmoses took heed in peeking from Spring's new ground, and groups of ducklings traveled along the pond much far off. "It's.... lovely.... it makes you somber, doesn't it?" He spoke, setting down his things and slowly going to press his fingers into the cool water. 

"I guess." Beatrice replied, watching him.

The chill of the water seeped into the wood of Wirt's fingers, however; oil from his body leaked off and seeped into the water in small inky pearls. He frowned, recoiling to himself, and sitting himself down on a smooth rock by the lake side. Beatrice watched him recoil and bit her lip, turning around to look at him as he slumped away.

"Don't get discouraged." Beatrice hummed. She bent down to rinse her hands as well, as they were still covered in dirt her fall earlier.  
It seeped through a bit, but she pressed her palms together to prevent it more.. Beatrice knew it was silly, but if it could give him some sort of peace than it was worth it. "Drink up." The boy turned, looking to her with confused eyes. 

"Mh..?" He murmured out, before glancing to her palms. His glance shifted to the pool of water dripping slowly through her fingers, his pupils dilating, a subtle grin on his face. The warmth on his face felt similar to that of the breeze of the forest that day. Cold, but evenly warm. He hadn't felt that warmth in so long..   
He moved his hands a bit, staring at the ripples and smiling to himself. "..Hah..Alright" he chirped as he stared at it for a few more moments before leaning forward and letting her tip the water into his parted lips, his eyes closed. "

Beatrice hummed softly, although she had abandoned watching the water ripple and slip through her fingers, and instead her gaze was focused on Wirt's. For the second time in weeks, he looked tranquil, but maybe even a bit more so than last time she'd seen him like this. She had provided peace for him, if only for a moment, and in that, had provided a bit of peace for herself.

Wirt slowly shifted his weight and poured the water back into the pond, before moving aside to make room on the worn rock. Beatrice flicked her fingers at Wirt playfully before doing the same to the lake, and tossing her body onto the rock. The slender boy flinched back momentarily at the water splashes, scrunching up his face. Exhaling, Wirt noted that his head was beginning to feel light as he stared at the sky reflecting evenly over the water. His hand pressed at his head, where it felt as though somebody was pressing a knife there from the inside. On both sides, left and right, four inches from his temples.

"Hm...." Beatrice thought out loud before turning to him. "Hey... You okay?" she asked, leaning toward him a bit.

Wirt's focus now laying in on the throbbing pain, he breathed out slowly, his hand dragging down his face, to his nose, holding the bridge for a moment.   
"Mhh." Was all he spoke, his hand moving down to his lap, as he took another short glance to the lake. A cold feeling burned at his nasal cavity, and within a blink, blood was pooling from his nose. It was a very deep red, almost black, and as his fingers pressed to it.

Beatrice jumped a bit. "Wirt. Your nose is bleeding." She said, in a stern but generally calm voice. She'd seen enough blood for a lifetime in the past two months. She reached up a bit cautiously, not to touch the blood exactly but in a sort of comforting manner as her fingers reached up to touch his cheek tentatively.

Wirt closed his eyes slowly, exhaling yet again, bringing his fingers closer to try and stop the blood flow from going to his lips. "Is... is it...?" He spoke, pressing his other hand firmly into his cloak. His head was pulsing now, and his lungs felt tight for a moment, causing him to inhale, exhale, loosening the invisible binds on his chest.

"Mhm... Yes.. Oh-" Beatrice grabbed the shall around her shoulders and threw it off, setting it in his other hand. She didn't mind. "Use this." She watched him breath heavily, and her own heart began to speed up in mild fear.

Wirt squinted and grabbed her shawl, pressing it to his nose, the blood very quickly soaking through. His vision stretched over to the other side of the body of water, causing for his head to spin. Soon, his eyes were closed again as the breeze flowed by, brushing his hair over his cheek.   
"I feel nauseous.." he spoke, slowly lifting himself off of the rock and heading to lift both his lantern and his axe in the same hand, before stepping back over the rocks, to the mossy trail.

"Wirt, Wirt-" Beatrice didn't get up to follow him, and stayed on the rock, watching him walk away. "You- Are you okay?" she called, wondering what he wanted her to do...Wirt nodded in response, removing the shawl as the bleeding subsided, setting it in his hand, as he transitioned his axe to his now bloodied hand, the fabric bundled up.

"Yes.. follow me." Wirt spoke up, stepping back onto the path.

Beatrice nodded quickly, fumbling as she stood up in her nerves. She cursed at herself and skidded after the boy, leaving the candle and knife on the rock behind her. She huffed a bit, embarrassed about how nervous she was.Wirt silently pushed himself through the bushes, catching himself few times as he nearly stumbled over a tree root or two. Typical of his nature... His eyes narrowed down to a stump lying beside a trail. Silently, he scavenged through the grass for a moment, and sighed to himself out of dissatisfaction. Nothing. The brunette then turned to look Beatrice over, his eyes narrowing down to her feet.

"You'll have bloodied feet soon enough, y'know.. Why didn't you bring along any foot wear?"

"You'd be surprised at how callused my feet are." Beatrice replied a bit sassily before scurrying over to him. "What are you looking for? " She asked, hanging above him a bit. He scoffed and placed a hand at his neck, before turning to head down the path that lay ahead of him. 

"Well, thorns are merciless." He retorted to her. "Mh... nothing that I won't find later on." Wirt spoke, his thumb dragging against the old metal of the lantern.

"Oh....okay." Beatrice decided he didn't want her to ask about it. On a normal day she'd prod and prod but... Hm. 

She had a feeling this Wirt wasn't really a push over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wirt's nose bleeding was a slight reference to Bioshock Infinite.   
> He was looking at a lake that resembled his drowning and his nose began bleeding, though he didn't remember it. (As this is an au where Wirt drowned in the lake and Greg survived)


End file.
